#Éowyn x Faramir

[theladyeowyn]

“… it would ease my heart, if while the Sun yet shines, I could see you still.”

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: The battle was over, and Thorin Oakenshield awoke, naked and shivering, in the Halls of his Ancestors. The novelty of being dead fades quickly, and watching over his companions soon fills him with grief and guilt. Oddly, a faint flicker of hope arises in the form of his youngest kinsman, a Dwarf of Durin's line with bright red hair.

Author: @determamfidd

Note from submitters:

It's just such a great story. It took me over a month to read because I needed time to ingest the amazing writing and frankly fantastic world build. It did an amazing job to work with and build on the existing cannon and lore while being it's own absolute masterpiece. After I finished it, I sobbed for nearly an hour and had a near 3 week reading slump and I don't regret it for a second. 

This fic is so good, it took me a month to finish and it put me in a two and a half week reading slump and I regret nothing except that I hadn't read it sooner

Submitter: @whats-she-gonna-post-next

[autistook]

March 20th - Faramir meets Éowyn in the Houses of Healing

[gramnel]

[velvet4510]

The thing about Éowyn giving up being a shieldmaiden is that those who complain about it are entirely missing the point.

What she truly wants is not to specifically fight and kill and kick ass in battle. All those things are representations of her actual desire: to be recognized.

She is constantly being cast aside and forced into the corner and left behind, and she wants to actually leave an impactful mark, a legacy, which the society of Rohan will not permit her to create. She directly tells Aragorn that she wants to do great deeds, and she is most afraid of losing her chance to do anything meaningful with massive ripple effects. She has the very human and very relatable need to be seen and noticed and remembered.

She sees all these warriors achieving glory and becoming the subjects of songs on the battlefield, so she thinks that’s her only way. And she fears that once the war is over, there will be no other way, that it will all go back to the way it was for her.

Then by the end, she learns that’s not true. She can do great deeds and achieve recognition post-war, and she does.

She becomes the Princess of Ithilien, a land decimated by war which means she and Faramir essentially get to start from scratch in rebuilding the land and the society. As Faramir’s equal partner, it is up to her, as much as it is up to him, to make the land beautiful again, to decide how it should be run, to shape it into a thriving place, to eventually mentor the next generation to take proper care of it all. She can introduce horses to the land and teach people to ride. She can teach self-defense because everyone needs to know that kind of stuff. She can do so many things and make so many major decisions for the benefit of so many people who look up to her and need her.

And above all, Éowyn can shape Ithilien to be what Rohan never was to her: a place where all women are seen and heard and respected.

And the best part is, she gets all the freedom and makes all the impact that she has always dreamed of, and yet she doesn’t have to deal with any of her responsibilities alone. While before she had no support in being Théoden’s nurse, and dealt with it all by herself, now she is surrounded by love and encouragement. She’s got Faramir there to always hold her hand. She’s got supportive friends in Aragorn, Arwen, and Merry.

Éowyn giving up being a shieldmaiden and warrior is not the equivalent of abandoning her dream; it is the equivalent of achieving her dream.

[themoonlily]

How Éomer and Lothíriel's wedding probably went

Éowyn: storms in a month before the wedding and arranges the whole thing, is somehow prepared for and does resolve a dozen various crises behind the scenes while the bride and the bride-groom remain oblivious

Amrothos: annoying pranks during the stag night; is the cause of at least one or two crises, Éothain locks him up in a cupboard somewhere in Meduseld

Elphir and/or Erchirion: a lot of threats aimed at the bride-groom that are progressively less and less veiled; be good to her or else...!

Arwen: emotional support for the bride, the bride-groom, and occasionally father of the bride; will hold the bride-groom's hand to keep him calm

Aragorn: the Dad Friend who will give good advice and maybe help to adjust some piece of clothing just before ceremony; is instrumental to resolving at least a few crises behind the scenes

Éothain: will help to arrange a quick getaway when guests get annoying and has several cupboards ready to act as cells; shares a lot of embarrassing stories but also secretly cries during the ceremony

Faramir: makes a toast everyone will talk about for years to come; will hold the bride's hand to help with the nerves

Imrahil: is happy he doesn't need to deal with the incessant pining anymore; has not had a day off since last year and he is going to just enjoy this, thank you very much

[edennill]

Ok, but Finduilas' star cloak???👀👀👀

(Sara Mrad, Winter 24/25)

I MEAN -

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Food Sex

Eh, a bit of porridge for your nerves after these tiresome days :D

Prompt: Food Sex

Pairing: Éowyn x Faramir

Words: 545

Warnings: Misappropriation of food, vaginal sex, nipple sucking, nudity, I might have misunderstood the prompt

Faramir stared at the bowl in his wife’s slender hands miserably.

Éowyn was radiant, beaming with pride, and he was loath to deflate her ebullient mood by appearing unappreciative and ungrateful when she’d gone to such lengths for him.

She was, unfortunately, known to be a subpar cook by any imaginable metric.

“Even I cannot ruin that one,” she chuckled, setting the wooden container down between his bare feet.

The greyish sludge looked inordinately unappetising, Faramir thought, but the complex, sweet aroma emanating from the sloshing mush made his stomach churn eagerly, nevertheless.

He’d just returned from a weeklong mission and felt a smidgen under the weather—it was proper and good that his devoted spouse had offered to whip something up to make him feel better, and he felt like a villain for having hoped that her offering would be more carnal than culinary in nature.

He’d missed her; her soft skin, her silken hair, her firm curves under his chafed fingers as he showered her with ardent tenderness…

“Go ahead,” she encouraged, a knowing smile still tugging at the corners of her mouth. “It’s only porridge!”

As soon as he lifted the beautifully carved spoon to his lips, she stood and unbuttoned her shift.

“To feast your eyes as well as your tongue,” Éowyn declared with all the undeniable power and dignity of her noble blood.

She was positively fearless, and—as so often since first meeting her—Faramir was overcome with admiration and profound affection for this stubborn, amazing woman he had the honour and pleasure of calling his wife.

To his surprise, the unidentifiable slurry she’d handed him was indeed perfectly edible and, after the long days spent on the road, even comparatively tasty.

Of course, his senses might have been swayed by the voluptuous pulchritude of Éowyn’s bare flesh, glowing faintly in the flickering light of the dying fire in the hearth.

At once, his hunger was stoked afresh, and he devoured his allotted portion with voracious haste without ever assuaging the burning need roaring in his guts.

“Is it sweet enough?” Éowyn asked with feigned innocence before snatching away the nearly empty bowl and letting the remaining porridge drip onto her naked body in a gesture so irreverent and titillating, that her honourable, studious husband pounced upon her like an unleashed beast.

Kissing and sucking on her thus bemired skin in the single-minded pursuit of that symphony of honey and heated flesh, he pushed her onto her back, heedless of the treacherous stains his own garb would bear.

He’d never believed that a woman might make him lose control over his moral principles so easily, but—as he tugged at his breeches haphazardly with one hand—he had to admit that Éowyn knew exactly how to lull him into a false sense of security before driving him over the edge of sanity ruthlessly.

As he pushed into her awkwardly, his sticky lips still latched on her right nipple, making her squeal and moan with delight, Faramir couldn’t help considering how shocked and disgusted his father would be if he knew about this unexpected, unorthodox intermezzo.

“I’ve missed you too,” Éowyn keened as she arched her back to draw him in deeper. “How do you like your humble welcoming feast?”

-> Masterlist

@tolkienpinupcalendar Here's another one from me <3

[brother-genitivi]

bye I’m unwell bc I’ve been looking at the clothes Faramir and Éowyn wear in that deleted wedding scene photo Miranda Otto posted and AUGHHH Faramir’s clothing has floral patterns,,,, the starry mantle of his mother’s he gives to her also has floral patterning on it. something about the floral crown Éowyn wears we first see at Théodred’s funeral and now we’re seeing it at the birth of a new age of peace at Aragorn’s coronation (and Faramir’s also wearing clothing with floral patterns). something something them growing a garden together in Ithilien. etc etc. sobbing

[theladyeowyn]

The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (2003) dir. Peter Jackson

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

“Blessed”

Pairing: Éowyn/Faramir

Others: Aragorn

Themes: Soft | Fluff  

Warnings: Nothing

Wordcount: 500+ words

Summary: Faramir speaks with Aragorn on the day of his wedding to Éowyn.

This ficlet was inspired by @thelien-art piece on Faramir and Éowyn.

Also available on AO3

Aragorn came to his chambers at the appointed hour. “The others have all gathered in the Court of the Fountain. Come, my friend, let us not keep them waiting.”

Faramir joined his king as they made their way down the long, vaulted halls he once played in as a child. “Never would I have considered such a day possible, your grace,” he pondered aloud. “And with such a lady, no less.”

“The Valar have indeed blessed you,” the king remarked, smiling. “Éowyn is a fine woman and a fierce warrior. She will make you a splendid wife.”

The steward smiled in return, his sense of anticipation only growing when two sentries opened the high, wide doors to the gardens. There were guests aplenty: members of the new king’s court, nobles from Rohan, even the queen’s brothers. Elladan and Elrohir were to remain in the city for a while before they left on one final hunt to cleanse the lands of Sauron’s fell servants.  

And then they will join their grandfather and follow their father and grandmother on the watery path they took to the Blessed Realm. Faramir wondered if Arwen would miss her brothers dearly. He knew he missed his own, and fresh grief clenched in his heart when he realized Boromir did not live to witness their great victories or what came after.

I wish he were here, Faramir thought while he walked toward the White Tree. I wish Boromir was here to share my joy. Father too.

Faramir mourned his father as much as he mourned his brother. No one told him of Denethor’s end or the manner in which it came about until much later, after he had left the house of healing and was strong of heart.

“I wish you and Lady Éowyn nothing but joy in the many years to come,” Aragorn said, before turning to join his wife and the others that stood to bear witness to the exchanging of vows.

“My thanks, your grace,” Faramir returned, before turning to face the city elder who would preside over the exchanging of their vows. Then a minstrel strummed a soft refrain on his harp, a signal that the bride was making her way to the groom. Faramir found himself overcome with joy. It only grew when he turned to see Éowyn walking toward him, her arm around her brother’s.

She is as fair as the queen herself. Éowyn was garbed in white, with no other adornment save for a belt of pearls wrought in gold. Her eyes were fixed on her intended husband’s, as bright and warm as the summer sky. Faramir was enraptured.

“Greetings, husband mine,” the lady smiled, her face flushed with excitement.

“Greetings, my darling wife," answered Faramir, bowing respectfully to both her and her brother. Éomer bowed gravely before placing a kiss on his sister's cheek.

"I wish you nothing but happiness," the king of Rohan whispered, before he too turned to join the others. 

When she placed her hand in Faramir’s they turned to face the elder. He beamed at them while he wrapped a delicate white sash around their hands, binding them together in the sights of the Exalted Ones and all those who had gathered in the courtyard. Then the ceremony truly began. 

[sylveongender]

faramir and éowyn are t4t if you even care

[camille-lachenille]

Day 24 of All of Arda is Autistic:

Prompt: infodumping/shyness/wildflowers

Rating: Gen

Faramir/Éowyn

Éowyn followed her husband on the barely visible trails used by the Rangers, marvelling at how he was able to navigate this hidden path almost blindly; she felt like an Oliphaunt tramping along, in comparison. Faramir was scanning their surroundings with a peaceful focus, pausing every now and then to point out a plant that caught his attention, explaining its properties, symbolic and function in the wild. He wore a wide smile as he showed Éowyn the countless species that blossomed in Ithilien.

After a long walk, they exited the woods proper and came upon a rocky slope that marked the first steps of the Ephel Dúath. Faramir’s face lit up and he practically dragged Éowyn to a cluster of small, pale yellow flowers that grew amongst the bare rocks. “Look!” he exclaimed, beaming. “This is ithilgoloth, a rare flower that grows only in Ithilien. The Shadow almost eradicated it but it’s growing again!”

His enthusiasm for this frail-looking little plant was contagious and Éowyn crouched next to her husband to give a better look at the ithilgoloth. Faramir was delicately running a finger on the small leaves and long stem of the plant, radiating genuine happiness at the sight of this little flower growing back after the destruction of its home. In this moment, Éowyn understood that her husband’s knowledge for Ithilien’s flora was more than the interest of a scholar. It was a knowledge made of love for this land and an bubbling will to share it. And so, as she listened to Faramir talk about the ithilgoloth, Éowyn fell in love all over again.

This prompt was delayed by a surprising amount of research on Ithilien’s flora. My botanical knowledge is close to nothing when it comes to Mediterranean plants and it was surprisingly difficult to find a rare Mediterranean flower. Ithilgoloth (moon-flower in Sindarin) is my extremely amateur attempt at translating the French common name of the Biscutella rotgesii. This is a flower endemic to Corsica and it’s highly endangered. I figured that it was a good candidate for a flower that got almost destroyed by the Shadow’s pollution of Ithilien.

[velvet4510]

My Farawyn Playlist

“It Might Be You” by Stephen Bishop

“Hello” by Lionel Richie

“I Won’t Say I’m in Love” by Susan Egan

“Lady” by Kenny Rogers

“What About Now” by Daughtry

“The Way I Am” by Ingrid Michaelson

“Home” by Phillip Phillips

“You Light Up My Life” by Debby Boone

“I See the Light” by Mandy Moore & Zachary Levi

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hii I like your writings! If you're still taking requests, can you write something about Eomer and the female reader? The reader is Aragorn's older sister. A ranger and a renowned warrior. After Eomer personally meets the owner of the stories he's been hearing for years, he may begin to fall in love with her. If you write, thank you in advance, if you don't I totally understand, no problem.~

Greetings, Anon! I'm SO sorry it took me so long to get to this request. It has been sitting in my inbox for a hot minute. Thank you so much for reaching out and dropping this off. I hope you enjoy this little thing I put together.

A Sudden Spark

Éomer x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: mild suggestive themes, slight canon-divergence, fluff, yearning, crush at first sight

Word Count: 1.4k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

The Great Shadow is fading.

Evil is not gone. It is simply receding, lingering in the farthest reaches, waiting for the final blow of steel that will eventually come. There is a brightness that stretches over everything like a warm blanket draped across the shoulders. It is as if the Sun returned after a long sleep.

Éomer breathes deep, allowing the brilliance of sunshine and the floral aroma on the wind to fill his lungs. A peace settles over him, a gentleness that extinguishes all ache from the last few months. Éomer is battle-weary. He lost his uncle, and nearly lost his sister.

A few years of peace are what he and everyone needs.

Turning away from the Pelennor Fields, Éomer reenters the feast hall of Merethrond. Taking up residence beside a tall, white pillar, Éomer observes the crowd around him, drinking from his mead cup. Everyone is in a celebratory mood. As they should be.

The battle is over. Gondor has a king. And yet, there is still so much to do.

Éomer celebrates along with them. The mead is delicious if a bit strong, and he has a tender urge to experience life. A fair maiden with lovely lips and curves would surely satiate that subtle hunger.

But darkness and duty lurk in the back of his mind. The bright sunshine and fresh air only quieted it for a moment. Rohan is without a king. Éomer will take up the title. He has not officially been crowned but it will happen after all of this is done. From this point on, Éomer must serve his people in more ways than he has previously. While he has always been a ferocious fighter and a skilled rider, the politics of ruling will become a new burden.

Éowyn will support him, but for how long? She is currently tangled up in Faramir’s arms, the two of them moving across the floor in a dance that sends the bottom of her dress spinning. Her smile is wide and pure, cheeks lightly flushed from exertion and most certainly from the beginnings of love. Faramir’s smile is just as wide and bold, their gazes locked on one another as if there is no one else in the room.

No. Éomer will not always have his sister. It appears that he will lose her to another sooner rather than later. But he is not upset. If anything, he is happy for her. She deserves so much, especially after all they’ve lost.

That leaves only him. He too will need someone at his side that is more than simple counsel. Éomer will need a wife. That is the reality of things. Someone for him to love and to love him in return, to birth his children, to listen and give advice, and to assist in taking care of the realm. While it is a duty, Éomer deeply longs for companionship.

But all this responsibility subdues the celebratory mood. It slots his thoughts into all that must be done on his return to Edoras.

Éomer is happy for Aragorn. He is happy that Gondor has a king, and that Gondor will be a great ally. He is happy that Aragorn has reunited with the woman he loves, and that the lands are no longer scarred by darkness and death.

He takes a long swig of his mead, leaning harder against the pillar as he observes the dancers in the middle of the hall. The mead is strong and sinking into his bones. The buzz is sharp in his blood.

“Not joining in?” The feminine voice draws Éomer’s attention away from the dancing couples and to the end of his right shoulder.

Éomer freezes, his mead cup halfway to his mouth. The woman standing next to him smiles sweetly. Your gentle beauty is soft and inviting. As Éomer continues to stare, that sweetness morphs into amusement, and that one look sends a little shiver up his spine to slice through his heart.

When he doesn’t answer, you arch a single eyebrow, and Éomer hastily clears his throat.

“Not for me,” he admits, immediately drinking some of his mead.

“Dancing?”

Are you asking him? It feels like you are but Éomer hasn’t always been successful about understanding a woman’s signals when she’s interested. Usually, Éomer is the one approaching.

Éomer nods because he doesn’t trust his voice. He might choke on his words this time instead of a simple cough.

There is a stretch of silence before you speak again. “But you are celebrating.” You nod toward his cup. Éomer briefly glances at your empty hands.

“And you are not partaking,” he comments.

You laugh. “The Lord of the Mark is observant,” you tease, smile stretching toward your ears.

Another stretch of silence, and your eyebrows start to rise toward your hairline, head tilting slightly. Éomer blinks and then heat rushes up his cheeks.

By the Gods, he should have realized sooner.

Éomer pushes off from the pillar, straightening his shoulders and back, smoothing the front of his formal tunic. “Would you—”

“Yes,” you reply automatically, eagerly reaching for him.

Your hand is warm in his. Éomer follows, allowing you to lead, dropping his drink somewhere on a random table before entering the crowd of dancers. The music is upbeat and light. Éomer wouldn’t call himself graceful, but he did grow up learning traditional dances for this very reason.

But you continue to lead, and somehow that is comforting. Éomer is always prepared to take charge and make decisions. He does none of that now. You are smiling, clasping his hand, this stranger that has suddenly captured all his attention.

Perhaps forgetting for a bit is a good thing.

Éomer goes through two dances with you before the music slows a bit. Before, he hardly had a chance to speak, but now the two of you are close together, bodies pressed tight. He briefly glances over your shoulder and notices Arwen’s smile. She is watching him, and you. His gaze falls to the man beside her.

There is a slight frown on Aragorn’s face. Why is he frowning? Why does he appear concerned?

“You know my name but I’m afraid I do not know yours,” says Éomer, his face slightly tilted toward your own.

You give it casually and Éomer blanches. He knows that name. He knows who you are.

For the time he’s known Aragorn, Éomer has heard the stories from others, never from the man himself. He keeps you secret, not leaning into the tales told about you. You are his sister, the elder but not by much. But you are not soft and delicate, or so Éomer has been told.

You are daring. Adventurous. A fierce warrior and Ranger. You wield sword and bow with gracefulness and deadly aim. Éomer had heard that the Rangers came during the battle, but he did not see you. Then again, Éomer was far too busy trying to keep himself and his fellow Rohirrim alive.

The image he built of you in his head does not match the woman before him. The way you match his every step and how your hands feel against him, all speak to gentler things. Before him is a sweet and soft woman, but as he peers closer, Éomer notices the subtle shifts of your movements. There is a warrior’s grace to the fluidity of your body against his and with every leading step.

There is power within you along with the soft.

Éomer’s heart suddenly snags, stuttering before becoming a pounding drumbeat. When you turn your smile back to him all coherent thought leaves his brain except one.

She’d be a fierce queen.

The music swells and then melts away, and you release Éomer to step back and bow deeply. Éomer mimics the movement. When the two of you straighten, it is at the exact same time, and then you step far too close for a stranger.

“This is where we part,” you murmur, soft lips forming the words yet also sending Éomer’s brain into a foggy scramble.

You incline your head and begin to draw away. Like a lightning strike, Éomer moves into the space you just occupied, snatching your wrist to pull you close.

Your lips part in surprise, chest heaving slightly. Éomer’s gaze drops to the exposed tops of your breasts.

“This is where we part,” he repeats, gaze returning to your face. “For now.”

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @firelightinferno @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @miaraei @coffeecaketornado @cherryofdeath @berarenado @therealbloom @ninman82 @thewulf @ferns-fics @beebeechaos

[meteors-lotr]

Barduil fam movieset AU

Retired broadway star!Bard X Disgraced former primadonna!Thranduil, with their children Legolas the makeup artist, Sigrid the score composer, Bain the stunt man and Tilda the pyrotechnician

Additionally Gimli working in the prop department, Aragorn in costumes, Boromir as a fight choreographer, and the hobbits as interns

Éowyn and Éomer as animal handlers, Faramir as on set medic, Gandalf as a senior actor, and I can just keep going