#éomer x reader

[middleearthpixie]

Here I come bringing my obsession your Ask Box!

AUgust Mashup:

Eomer + Enemies to Lovers + “I didn’t know you cared.”

No pressure: Please and thank you! <3

Ahhhh... I know this took me FOREVER, but here you go (and you should know, this is my very first time ever writing Éomer, so I really hope I got him right!)

I hope you like it! 💜💜💜

Fair Enough

Trope: AUgust Mashup Enemies to Lovers

Quote: “I didn’t know you cared…”

Pairings: Éomer x fem!reader

Warnings: None. Just fluffy fluff

Rating: G

Word Count: 4.6k

***

“Isn’t there some way we could just—you know—knock him from his saddle?”

You bit back a smile at Cynewyn’s suggestion, although it did have merit, and tried instead to focus on the plate you were drying. “The trouble with that would be, we might spook his horse and if it was injured, we’d never forgive us, would we?”

“Well, no. I don’t suppose we would. But, the horse might be just fine. Only Éomer would get no less than he deserves.”

“True, but it’s a risk I’d rather not take. The last thing either us or papa needs is to to pay for replacing his horse.”

“It would be no less than he deserves as well, the snake. I’d like to throw a rock at him right now.”

“Makes two of us, but again—” 

“I know,” Cynewyn sighed, “it’s a risk you’d rather not take.”

“Exactly.” You smiled at your older sister. “We can only hope that one day, he gets his and that we are lucky enough to witness it.”

“Which is not going to happen.” Cynewyn went quiet as she dunked another plate into the washbasin. “Still, why would he do that to you, anyway? What was the point?”

You shrugged, taking the plate to wipe dry. “To make sport of me, I suppose. After all, isn’t it funny when a man pretends he’s interested in you and then when you show up at your agreed upon meeting place, he’s nowhere to be found? And isn’t it funny when he and his friends were just outside of the pub, giggling like children, is just so amusing?”

“Men? Bah! They are but boys. Big boys, but boys just the same.” She passed you another plate.

You said nothing, but dried the plate and then slid it onto its shelf in the cupboard, atop the small stack you’d already dried. In the time it took you to do that, Éomer had moved on down the road that ran before the kitchen windows of your family’s small stone cottage. You should have known he’d been sporting with you when he asked you to meet him at the coffeehouse the previous week. Until that morning, he didn't seem to know you were alive. It was only too bad you could not say the same, because not only did you most definitely know he was alive, you thought he was the most perfect man alive. That afternoon, however, he toppled from that pedestal and shattered at its base as far as you were concerned. 

Of course, that didn't mean his thoughtless actions didn't hurt. Because they did. They most definitely did. 

But, you’d not think about what happened any longer. He’d gotten a good laugh at your expense, but you would rise above it. You had no other choice, really. He was the king’s nephew and you were… well…

You were nobody, really. 

A depressing thought.

You finished drying the dishes and left your sister to whatever it was she was doing. You shared a room and night after night, you would stretch out on your bed and try to read whilst she went through her seemingly bottomless supply of fabric for whatever gown she was going to try to copy from whichever lady she saw in town. She was really quite gifted, so you didn’t mind when she asked you to be her model, as you had no dressmaker’s dummy. But tonight, she did not need your assistance and, claiming a headache, instead she chose to go to bed early. A good night’s sleep was always welcomed, but as you lay there in the dark, sleep mocked you instead. It had been happening more and more often now, as the world grew more unsettled and while you could usually find some way to drift off, tonight was not one of those nights. You were simply too restless and so you slipped from the small stone cottage to go for a walk. 

You tried not think about how disappointed you’d been when Éomer stood you up at the coffeehouse. Perhaps you should have expected it, but it hurt just the same. Of course, you weren’t the only one who imagined catching his eye. Half the women of marriageable age in Edoras dreamed of doing just that and no one could blame a one of you. Not only was he the king’s nephew, but he was so blasted handsome, with his long, wavy dark gold hair and direct hazel eyes. And whenever you saw him on horseback—you melted a little on the inside each time.

Of course, now he knew you fancied him and not only that, but he’d used it against you. Knocking him off his horse wasn't even close to being enough. Still, you couldn't dwell on it forever. In time, everyone who was in that coffeehouse would forget.

Everyone but you, anyway. 

“And that is the last we will think of it,” you muttered, trying instead to focus on something, anything, else as you strolled on. 

It was a peaceful night, hints of the coming autumn in the crisp edge of the breeze that stirred the leaves last night’s storm had pulled from the trees. The best thing about the stone cottage at the end of the road in Edoras? You were the farthest point from the king’s residence, which meant you would most likely not cross paths again with Éomer at this time of night. True, he’d been riding south, which meant that at some point he would pass by here again, but you’d have enough warning, as the road was wide and almost no trees lined it. Sneaking up on you would be almost impossible. 

Not that he would even try. He’d made himself perfectly clear where you were concerned. 

The night sky was clear, spangled with stars and moonlight bathed everything as far as you could see an etherial silver color. There had been rumblings to the east, and you’d heard talk amongst the menfolk about the possibility of war, and you also knew that orcs had been seen on the borders of Rohan. And that was why you did not leave your house without a blade of some sort. Although your father was not overjoyed at the thought, he allowed both you and Cynewyn to carry a small sword, which you were almost never without. You weren’t a master by any stretch of the imagination, but Papa had made certain you and your sister learned how to defend yourselves, should the need ever arise.

Your walks had become your way of remaining sane when it seemed there was so much uncertainty all around. The thought of war was so foreign to you, as your father insulated you and Cynewyn as best he could, and yet you knew it wasn’t far off. The king’s health was failing, and you’d heard rumors that he, Éomer, and the king’s advisor, Grima, had been butting heads of late. 

Perhaps that was why Éomer had gone thundering past the kitchen windows on his horse as he had. One too many cross words with his uncle, maybe? In some ways, you hoped so, for if Éomer was banished, life would become easier for you.

But at the same time, if you were completely honest with yourself, you knew if he left for good, you would miss him terribly. How difficult it was, caring so much for a man you also tried so hard to despise! If only you could forgive him.

If only.

You vowed once more to not think about it. 

Instead, you concentrated on the beauty of the night sky, of how those stars seemed so vast and endless, how the moon managed to bathe things silver although it gave off no light. You listened to the whisper of the wind through the scrub grass and bushes that dotted the landscape seemingly to the edge of Middle Earth. The wind whispered, crickets chirped, and in the distance, an owl hooted. A normal night.

Or so you thought.

You heard the noise before you saw the creature that made it and as those sounds reached your ears, the stench reached your nose. Your heart lurched, your stomach kinked, and a sour taste filled your mouth, brought on both by the stink and the coldest, iciest, most petrifying fear that ever permeated your being.

Papa always told you not to venture too far from the road. One never knew what lurked in the fields sweeping east and west, where twisted trees grew in clumps and provided cover for many things.

Such as the orc now standing over Éomer’s prone body.

You ducked, shifting toward the stand of pine trees twisted by the winds, which thankfully carried any sounds you might have made away from the orc and Éomer. Metal clanged Éomer blocked the orc’s downward swing with his blade. He held fast, his arms trembling from the effort and his heavy glove the only thing keeping the dual-sided blade from slicing into his hand.

The orc appeared to brace harder against his blade, determined to run Éomer through and you couldn't let that happen, no matter how angry or hurt you were because of him. So, you slid your blade free and crept about the pines as silently as you knew how. You’d learned from Papa, who would take you with him when he went hunting, and although you could never bring yourself to kill anything, you learned from him just the same. Besides, an orc wasn’t anywhere near as beautiful as a deer or fox. Quite the opposite, really. They were the ugliest, vilest, most disgusting creatures to walk the earth as far as you were concerned. 

Your soft-skinned boots made no sound as you approached and the orc never knew what hit him when you swung and cleaved his head clean from his shoulders. What was left of him collapsed like a sandbag atop Éomer, who swore softly as the creature’s thick, black blood splattered him. 

Nausea rose in your throat as it spattered you as well, and you tried to ignore it as you grabbed the still-warm shoulder and threw the corpse back. “Are you all right?”

“I’ve had better nights,” Éomer groaned, rolling over and onto his knees, his sword clattering softly in the dust. “What are you doing out here?”

“I was but going for a walk. What is that—” you gestured to the dead orc—“doing here? They do not usually venture so close to our borders.”

“They grow bolder and have been for some time now.” He rocked back on his knees and swept his silver and brass helmet from his head to let it clatter to the ground alongside his sword. “Are you all right?”

“Me? I am fine.” You resheathed your sword and carefully crouched alongside him. His dark blond hair was damp with sweat, pulled away from his face and held back with a small strip of worn leather. “And you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“What happened?”

“It’s nothing.” He winced as he shifted onto his backside and gingerly prodded at his left thigh.

You looked down, your stomach clenching at the sight of the wound that must’ve bled terribly, for the entire front of his trouser leg was stained with a large wet patch. It looked as if the orc’s blade had sliced through the fabric. Without thinking, you brushed his hands aside to see for yourself and as soon as you had, you wished you hadn’t. 

The wound was ugly and raw, a long slice from just below his hip to his knee, and still bled freely. “We need to get you home.”

“You go on. I need to find my horse.”

“Your horse is not here,” you told him, scanning all around to make certain you weren’t lying. You were’t. There was no sign of a horse anywhere about. “Come, let’s get you up and I will help you.”

“Just leave me…”

“Oh, don’t be a fool!”

He jerked back. “I am serious. Leave me. The last I want is harm befalling you on my behalf. So please, just go. There will be more of them coming, looking for this one,” he nudged the corpse with one boot. “And I am not at all certain I’d be able to protect you.”

“You mean you aren’t certain you’d want to.”

He just stared up at you. “I didn't say that, nor would I.”

“You might as well. Aren’t I only a laugh to you anyway? Ever the fool for you and your friends to chuckle over.”

At least he didn't try to deny his actions or motivations as he said, “Oh… the coffeehouse.”

“Yes,” you nodded, “the coffeehouse. So, you’ll forgive me if I don't believe you would lift a finger to keep an orc away from me. Of course, you would do well to remember that it was I who saved you from an orc regardless. Still, if you wish to be left alone, far be it from me to insist on staying.”

You moved to stand, only to have him catch you by the wrist. “No, please,” he said softly, looking up once more, “don’t go. I—I owe you an apology for that.”

“To save your sorry skin, no doubt.”

To your surprise, he chuckled. “I deserve that.”

“Oh, that’s mighty big of you to admit,” you said dryly. “How very big indeed.”

“Very well, you’re right, you know. About all of it. And I mean that in the most sincere manner possible. Honest.”

That took a bit of wind from your sails and you sighed. “Perhaps we might fight about it later?”

He bobbed his head. “I wholeheartedly agree with that notion. Much, much later. In fact, we should never speak of it again.”

“Once you apologize, you mean.”

“I just did apologize.”

“No,” you shook your head, “you said you owed me one, which you do of course. But admitting it is not an actual apology.”

To your surprise, he burst out laughing. It was cut short by a sharp inhale of pain, but his smile only wavered as he snorted, “You’re joking, right?”

“You mean to tell me you honestly considered that an apology? Those sorry words? Truly?”

“Well…” he nodded. “Yes."

“Fine.” You stood up and brushed dirt and crushed pine needles from your backside. “I’ll bid you good eve then. You should hope you’re mobile once more before they come looking for their friend.”

You had every intention of marching off, of just leaving him there to rot, not caring if any more orcs happened upon him. It would serve him right. Apology. Bah! He could go pound sand, as Papa would say.

However, you only got maybe ten feet away when your conscience got the better of you and you came back to find he hadn’t moved an inch. 

“Come,” you growled, crouching beside him once more to take hold of his left wrist. “Let’s get you back.”

“I didn't know you cared,” he said even as he allowed you to help him up.

“I don’t. I should let you rot.”

“So, why aren’t you?”

“I don’t know. I’m a soft-hearted fool, I suppose.” You gave a not so gentle tug. “We should go. His pack is bound to notice he’s not returned and I do not want to have to explain to your uncle how I let you get butchered by orcs.”

“I’ll be forever grateful,” he replied drolly.

“Do you wish my help or not?”

He draped an arm about your shoulder. “Yes, of course I do. And I appreciate it as well.” He winced. “How far are we from Edoras’ border?”

“It’s better if you don’t know.”

“That far, eh?”

He leaned heavily on your shoulder, and you tried to ignore the stinging along your neck, the dull ache that spread down into your shoulder from bearing the brunt of his weight, as he was considerably taller and heavier than you were. “I’m afraid so, yes.”

“Wonderful.”

For reasons you couldn't begin to explain, the drollness in his deep voice made you laugh. “Yes, I couldn’t agree more.”

You managed to get him back to the road, him leaning hard against you with each step he took on his wounded leg. And with each step, his gait slowed. “Take care,” he said when you stumbled. “It would do us both no good if we fell.”

“I beg your… pardon,” you gritted, hefting him higher on your shoulder once more, “but… you are… not light, you know.”

“I know and I appreciate your help here as well.” He went silent for a long moment, then, drew in a deep breath and added, “And I’m sorry. For what I did at the coffeehouse.”

“All you had to do was come in and tell me you’d changed your mind, you know.” you told him, staring straight ahead, waiting for Edoras’ reassuring lights to come into view. At least then, you knew you’d be close to home and close to safety. 

“The thing of it is, I didn’t change my mind.” The regret in his voice surprised you and you stopped without warning, catching him as he stumbled, then scolded, “Take care, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“I’m sorry, but what? What do you mean, you didn't change your mind? Of course you did. I was there, remember? I was there and you were not.”

“No, I know that, but,” he pulled free, easing his arm from about her shoulders before shifting to settle on a rock, “I need to sit a moment.”

You didn't fight him, happy to be free of his weight, even if only for a few minutes. You rubbed the side of your neck. “Only a few minutes, though. We don’t know how much time we have left.”

“I know.” He looked up at you. “I didn’t change my mind, you know.”

“So you’ve said. What you haven’t said, was why you just left me sitting there like a fool.” Finally, you were able to get that weight off your chest, your eyes stinging the way they had in the coffeehouse, when you realized he was not coming through the door. “Why did you do that to me?”

“I was coming in,” he said slowly, looking up to meet your gaze, “and when I saw you… I got nervous and I know that sounds idiotic, but it’s the truth. It was a stupid, fool thing to do to you and I am ever so sorry I hurt you. If I could but do it over, I would walk through that door and we would not be having this conversation. And for that, I am also sorry.”

You had waited so long for him to assume responsibility for how he’d hurt you. And now that he had, you were at a loss for words. How did you respond to that? What did you say?

“Am I supposed to believe you had an attack of nerves? You, of all people?”

“Is that so hard to believe? I’m only human as human as any other man, you know. And that means that yes, sometimes, I have an attack of nerves. I’m not made of stone, I’ll have you know and you—”

You waited a moment for him to finish, your heart beating erratically now as those words were the last ones she ever thought she’d hear from him. But, when he remained silent, just staring at the ground, you leaned in. “I what?”

He looked up then, his eyes soft, and murmured, “You stole the breath from my lungs.”

You could only stare. Were you but dreaming or perhaps he’d suffered a head injury before you reached him? One of those had to be the truth because there was no other rational explanation for his words, no matter how they set butterflies free in your belly to batter your insides with their wildly-beating wings. 

“Éomer, I—I don’t know what to say,” you finally managed. 

“No, I’m sure you don’t,” he replied softly. “And I cannot fault you. But, if you could find it in your heart to forgive me, I would like another chance. A chance to right things between us.”

“Things between us? Is there a thing between us, never mind more than one?”

To your surprise, a sheepish smile lifted his lips. “I should like there to be.” 

“I don’t even like you, you know.”

His grin widened. “Somehow, I don’t believe that. After all, you came back, didn’t you?”

“Don’t let it go to your head. I could still leave you out here.”

“You could.” He nodded, then shook his head. “But you won’t.”

You stared at him for a long moment, then let out a heavy sigh of resignation. “No. I don't suppose I will.”

His eyes sparkled with mischief. “I knew it.”

You offered up a smile of your own and then, with all the force you could generate, you punched him square in the shoulder. 

He yelped as the blow sent him rocking backwards. “What was that for?”

“Because you, Éomer, are an ass and I should leave you here to suffer whatever fate you deserve.”

“You should, but I wish you wouldn’t.” He reached for your hand, caught it, and linked his fingers with yours. “I am truly sorry, though. You have to believe me.”

“Why should I believe you now?”

Éomer winced as he carefully stood. “Because I would like the chance to right my wrong where you are concerned.”

You looked up at him. “And how do you think you can do such a thing? I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” 

“I’m fairly certain I do.”

He smiled then and bent and before you could say anything, his lips met yours. Despite his wounded leg, he caught your face between his hands, not so much as wavering as his lips moved teasingly and gentle against yours, as his tongue eased between your lips to caress yours, and you shivered at the silken caress. His lips were soft and warm and those butterflies fluttered harder now, with more fury as he kissed you slow and deep and made your head spin as it had never spun before. 

Éomer was slightly breathless when he drew back. “So, will you allow me another chance? A chance to right what I’ve done wrong?”

“By all rights, I should say no.”

“But you won’t.” His hazel eyes sparkled with mischief.

“No,” you shook your head slowly, “I won’t.”

In the distance, came the snarl of wargs and that was enough to spur Éomer to drape his arm about your neck once more and say, “We should go.”

“A wise idea, to be sure.”

You made it back to Edoras without incident and you wasted no time in rousing the healer  from her bed, just as she wasted no time in shooing you from the infirmary. Someone must have alerted Éowyn as well, for she came hurrying down the corridor, her hair bound up away from her face and still in her nightdress.

“What happened?”

“He was set upon by orcs just beyond the border.”

“But what were you doing out there?”

You managed a smile. “I was but going for a walk. I was having trouble sleeping, and sometimes that helps.”

“You need be careful,” she warned. “What if you’d been alone?”

“We won’t think about that.”

The healer came out. “My lady,” she said with a tired smile. “His lordship is resting now and he’d like to see you.” 

Éowyn stepped forward, only to have the healer shake her head. “No, my lady, I’m sorry. He meant you,” she said, looking at you.

You swallowed hard. “M-me?”

The healer nodded now. “He was very clear.”

“I’ll just see what he might want,” you said, feeling no little guilt at Éowyn’s almost hurt expression. “And when he hears you’ve come down to see him, I’m sure he will ask you be brought in.”

Éowyn said nothing, but bobbed her head and you followed the healer into the small, quiet, semi-dark room. 

Éomer was abed, the linens stark even against his pale hair, and your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, as you’d never seen him so informally dressed, his loose tunic left unlaced to offer up an enticing patch of what you were certain was a finely-muscled chest. The image that came to your mind brought those butterflies to life once more deep within your belly. 

His eyes were closed, his enviably thick lashes dark crescents against his pale cheeks, but as you drew near, they opened and a tired smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “I thought perhaps I’d dreamed everything that happened this night,” he said softly, “but the pain is far too real.”

“I assume your healer stitched the wound. It looked fairly ugly.”

He nodded. “She did. I can resume duties in a week, according to her.” He gestured for you to come closer and when you did, he added in a whisper, “and we won’t tell her when I’m gone come morning, will we?”

“You should take her advice.”

“I cannot. Not right now.”

“Éomer, you will be useless with only a few hours’ rest and one leg. You need allow yourself time to heal.”

“Are you taking her side?”

“In this?” You nodded. “Absolutely.”

“But… you’re supposed to take my side.” 

“I would be, if you weren’t talking such foolishness.”

“Ouch. You wound me.” As he spoke, he reached out and caught your hand, and your mouth went dry as he gave a gentle tug. “Come and lay with me.”

“I couldn’t.”

“You could.”

“Éomer.”

“What?”

“I don't even like you.”

His eyes glinted with a hint of mischief. “We both know that isn’t true, don’t we?”

“Oh, it’s true.”

“Liar.” He tugged again. “Are you truly going to make a wounded man beg?”

“Éomer.”

“What?” He brought your hand to his lips, to your surprise, brushed its back with a kiss and murmured, “Please?”

You stared down at him for a long moment. “You are supposed to be injured.”

“I am injured. Nearly twenty stitches are holding that wound closed. But somehow, I don't think I’ll mind being trapped in this bed, if I have someone to share it with.”

Your heart fluttered. “Éomer. You are in an infirmary.”

“I know, but I’m in my own room, as you see.” He smiled. “No one will bother us and I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

With that, his smile grew mischievous. “Unless, of course, you’d rather I didn’t. And then, the next time I see you in the great hall or the yard, I’ll just look across at you and smile and only you will know why.”

You sighed softly and then, after a quick look about, gingerly stretched out alongside him, your heart beating faster as he drew his arm about your shoulders to tug you closer. You peered up at him. “And why will I be smiling?”

His eyes glinted with that same hint of mischief that let loose even more butterflies in your belly. “You’ll see.”

With that, he caught you beneath the chin with one bent finger, lifting your face ever so slightly and as his lips captured yours, you smiled. “You aren’t going anywhere come morning, you know.”

He broke the teasing kiss to gaze down at you. “Is that so?”

“It is,” you nodded, “because you have some very real making up to me to do. And I’m fairly certain it will take longer than a few hours."

“Making up to you, you say?” One dark brow arched and his smile grew wicked with promise. “I think that’s fair enough.”

***

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[dreamlandcreations]

Immortality/The choice

Éomer x Reader x Haldir

As only part elf, you could choose between two worlds. And it seems you might have to decide sooner than you expected, with your heart pulling you in two different directions.

Content with spending time in the elven kingdoms, learning the way of your ancestors and slowly gaining control of your abilities, you never even thought of the possibility of finding a place among mortals.

"Your heart is both elf and human, I believe in the worst way possible." - Galadriel

• moodboards masterlist •

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Corn Maze

Ah, this one is just fanservice! He's a favourite amongst my followers!

Characters: Éomer x reader

Words: 256

Warnings: Distress (very light)

“Éomer?” you called, suppressing a nervous giggle as you turned sharply only to face yet another solid wall of corn.

He had promised that it would be great fun to wander through the corn maze—a strange assembly of pathways some brave soul had cleft right into the thriving field—and, naïve as you were, you had believed him.

How you regretted that moment of weakness now that you were hopelessly lost, surrounded on every side by patently deaf ears of corn that were understandably unmoved by your lamentations.

An echoing snigger resounded somewhere ahead, and—shifting from one foot to the other nervously—you could finally make out a gap in the sea of gold and green.

A surge of renewed determination overcame you, and you gritted your teeth, ploughing on bravely.

“Catch me if you can,” Éomer teased from behind yet another impasse.

Even though he had known this little playground since before he had been old enough to sit a horse, and despite the unfair camouflage his radiant hair afforded him, you were sure that—sooner or later—you’d catch up with him.

“You’ll see,” you called, challenge ringing in every syllable of your battle cry. “You’ll rue your words.”

Bursting into laughter, Éomer promised you a thousand kisses and a foot massage if you managed to get to the exit before him.

You closed your eyes and followed the sound of his cheery voice in the same faithful, trusting way as a million times before. He’d see you through, he always did.

@fellowshipofthefics here we go with the next one!

-> Masterlist

𝙻𝚘𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 <3

[sotwk]

I just finished reading the second chapter for your Eomer angst and please spare my heart! I love the angst so much but please let them have a happy ending! Love your writing! It’s so beautiful and engaging I can’t even! 💗💖🩷💕💕🩷💖💗

Hello Anon! Let's wallow on the swooning couch together! (I'll bring the ice cream!) I'm so happy that the angst from "Taken" resonated with you. I tried my best convey the depth of Éomer's passion and despair, because our beloved Marshal deserves only the best. (Says I as I have Reader stomp on his heart, amirite??)

"Taken" is going to conclude with Part 3, which I am writing right now. Sorta. I will wrap it up as an Éomer x Reader fic, but it will be "reborn" in a sequel called "Change the Stars", which will turn "Reader" into a full Original Character, so we can see what this shield-maiden gal is all about and how in the WORLD is one able to refuse Éomer that way??

But back to Part 3! I cannot promise a "happy" ending, but I can say it will be a "hopeful" one. And lots more of that gut-wrenching "OMG he just loves her so much I think my heart is having a nosebleed" drama. I think that's what my audience has loved so far about this story, and admittedly that's what I enjoy best about writing it too.

And of course, the Wet Éomer.

Lots of love and sweet Éomer dreams to you, my friend! Thank you for your kind message!

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

@missusnora​ I hope you like this.

Pairing:  Éomer x fem reader.

Themes: Some angst | soft | fluff | smut | Slow burn

Warnings: Explicit content of a sexual nature | minors DNI

Word count: 3137 words 

The toddler giggled on her father’s lap, runny nose and all. You give her a soft wafer and hand over a bottle to her father. “Make sure she takes a small spoonful of this, once in the morning, once just before bed, and she’ll be as right as rain in a couple of days.”

The farmer took the bottle and stored it away carefully in his bag. “I’ll make sure Livitha takes it. Good evening to you, miss.” In one swift move, he lifted his daughter into his arms and walked off.

And you collapsed into a nearby chair as soon as the door closed behind him. The last patient of the day, from Rohan anyway.

Six months. You had been here six months after accidentally walking through a portal in your world, and ending up in this one. A slip-up, the wizard Gandalf had said, after one of his students, a novice Maia, experimented a tad too much with a spell. They had been working around the clock to try and open the portal again, for you to go back home, to your place and time. Alas, it had been unsuccessful so far.

The door opened, and you sighed. “Another patient, captain Gerold?”

“No. Just me.”

"Your grace!" The smile that lit your face came unbidden. “Finally! Someone that does not need poking and prodding!”

Éomer was leaning against the door post, watching you. “Tired, y/n?” 

“Uggghh!” You sink even deeper into your chair and invite him to join you. “If only you knew.”

He grinned and made his way over to a counter, picking up a goblet and a pitcher of water. “If you need a break, you need only ask.”

“Ooooh!” You clapped your hands and sat up immediately. A little holiday was just what you needed. “A vacation? Can I have one?” When he brought over a goblet of cool water for you, you thank him. “The mountains maybe? No! A sunny beach, with lots of drinks that come in fancy glasses with tiny umbrellas in them!” 

Éomer arched an eyebrow. In the beginning, he would have been confused with words such as vacation and umbrella, but after six months of listening to you talk of your world, they made sense to him now. “I doubt very much you will find drinks in fancy glasses with umbrellas,” He held his thumb and index finger as close as possible to each other. “This big. And the nearest beach is almost four weeks by carriage.”

He fought back a chuckle when you choked and coughed out your water. Three to four weeks in a carriage, no matter how comfortable, would be a trial for the will. And your will was in no mood to be cooped up in a carriage, days at a time. “You know what,” You looked around for a cloth to clean up the mess you made, and Éomer was more than happy to toss a handkerchief he had to you. “I changed my mind. No. No beaches for me.” 

“Just so.” Éomer grew pensive and sighed. He had just received a letter from Gandalf. He was sure it was about your journey home, and if he was honest with himself, Éomer didn’t want you to go back. After the initial shock of you literally falling on top of him that day when you walked through that portal, he had grown to enjoy your company. He found excuses to spend time with you, even rearranging his kingly duties to allow it. His sister had noticed and insisted he speak his feelings before you left. Éomer always shied away, fearful of saying the wrong thing and complicating everything. In his own words, fighting and king-ing were easy. Matters of the heart, on the other hand, were not.

His mind went back to the letter. His feelings aside, he didn’t want to keep any news from you. “Here.” He handed over the letter he was holding. “This came for you, from Gandalf. I think they may have found a way to get you home.”

The letter felt unwelcome in your hands. You find yourself not wanting to hear possible good news. Why did your heart fill with dread at the thought of leaving Meduseld and going home? Your fingers trembled as they worked on the seal, on the ribbon holding everything together. Your heart fluttered as you rolled open the parchment and read it.

My lady y/n.

Good news, my lady. 

We’ve done it. We’ve found a way to send you, and only you, safely home. Should you still desire to do so, just send the word, and we will make all the arrangements. 

With much fondness,

G.

Your eyes drift to the postscript. 

p.s. The Valar and I are making sure this spell is never used again, and they have more than willingly given leave for you to stay, should you wish to do so. So think very carefully about what you want to do. Once the portal is closed, it will never be open again. 

You gulped. The wizard had indeed found a way. You could go home. Leave Meduseld for good and go back to your old life. 

Éomer coughed, distracting you. You gulped again. If you accepted Gandalf’s offer, you would not only leave this realm for good, you would have to leave Éomer for good. Over the past six months, the two of you had grown close. Conversation came so easily when you were with him. You looked forward to seeing him, spending time with him. It was a feeling you had, that grew and grew, a feeling you could give no name to. And now, the thought of leaving him fills you with dread. “Gandalf-“ You gave the letter for him to read. “Gandalf has found a way it seems, to send me back. I--”

Éomer read the letter and then read it again, one ear trained to what you were saying, hoping against hope you weren’t going to say what he thought you were going to say. 

Don’t say it. Please don’t say it. 

Éomer knew this day might come, but he hoped he still had time to talk to you, ask you to stay. Now it felt like it was already too late, and he cursed himself for his cowardice. He wondered how much time he had left.

“I think I might take him up on the offer. Go home.” Home. To a quiet apartment, the grind of routine, insane hospital shifts, day in, day out, rinse and repeat. You quickly steal a look. Éomer was reading the letter intently. His hands were all bunched up in fists, his knuckles nearly white from the strain, the letter nearly tearing in his hands. He was angry. 

“Home,” he muttered under his breath. “You want to go home?”

“Yes, I want to go home.” The words felt like ash on your tongue. “I’m not sure I belong here, really, and…”

Fearful of the thought of losing you, of you ending up with someone else, Éomer cut you off with an abrupt, “You are not going.”

It came out like an order, and you stood up with a start. “I am not going? I am not going?” You got in Éomer’s face and pointed a finger at him. “Listen, sir, I know the past six months have been nice and all, but I would like to go home.”

“Home?” Éomer stood up and tossed the letter to a side. The both of you squared up like two fighters going against each other. “To a place with no true friends, where you are worked to the bone, for little appreciation and reward?”

“Yes!” You spat, although his words made you question yourself. Why did you want to go back to such a life? “I want that!” 

I think.

He could have given you every possible luxury and comfort he could muster, a life of peace, and to hear you say that angered him even more. “Oh! You want such a miserable life?” Éomer was up in your face now, and his sister was by the door, debating if she should stay out of this argument. Eowyn used her better judgment and quietly closed the door to give you both some privacy. “My lady?” Captain Gerold, and two of his men, stood behind her, wondering what the hullabaloo was all about. “My brother is trying to convince the lady y/n to stay. In the worst possible way imaginable.” Eowyn murmured as she waved her hands about, to shoo them away. “Let us give them some privacy, and pray the king does not bungle this up in glorious fashion.” 

Meanwhile, you and Éomer were still going at it. “Miserable!” You hissed through your teeth. “You want me to stay and insulting my life from before is how you go about doing it?!?”

“Yes!” Éomer quickly rethought the wisdom of his answer and changed tack. “I mean, no! I did not mean to insult your life! I just do not want you to leave!”

“Why don’t you want me to leave?” 

“Because if you leave, I will not be able to come to your realm!” Éomer shot back. “Not being able to travel to your realm means I lose you!”

Because the portal was going to be a one-time thing. The Valar were making sure of it. That still didn’t answer your questions. “And why don’t you want to lose me?”

“Because!” Éomer snorted, his eyes blazed. “Because! Be--” He gave up and sighed, let go of his anger and stopped fighting. The time had come to bare all, and if he didn’t say it now, he never would. “Because I am in love with you. I--” He inched his way closer, till he was right in front of you. “I do not want you to go because, I am in love with you and I do not want to lose you. I want you to stay here, with me.”

“Wha--” It felt as if the wind was taken right out of your sails. Éomer, King of Rohan, one of the greatest warriors of his age, was in love with you. And wants you to stay with him. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

You were taken aback by his confession, and stuck for words. You did not know what else to say, or do. Éomer, however had the answer. “Say yes. Say yes, that you will stay.”

It was still so much to take in. Your mind was a roil. “But--”

“I can look after you, give you the kind of life you deserve.” Éomer gulped, placed his hands on your shoulders. “You can still worker as a healer, if that is your wish, but you will be happier here, I will make sure of it.”

Here. Meduseld. Rohan. On Middle Earth. Away from the stress and grind of it all, with people that genuinely cared about you and where magic was very real. When large, callused hands drifted over your shoulders to your cheeks, the warmth of them made you forget all your worries. “Stay,” It was a plea, and from a king, no less. “Stay here, with me.”

Time seemed to stand still. Éomer waited, hoping for an answer, and then, when he couldn’t wait anymore, he leaned in and brushed his lips against yours.

His kiss was so gentle at first, so tender, as he slowly back you up until you bumped into a table. His hands drifted away from your cheeks, going lower until you felt fingers undoing the clasps and ties of your dress. Feeling more than a little daring, you undid the cords of his doublet, helping him slip it off. When your dress loosened, he stopped, curled a finger under your chin, tilted it up and asked, “Do you want me to?”

You licked your lips, as nerves from before gave way to excitement. “Yes.”

He took his time, hiking up your dress, lifting it over your outstretched arms and tossing it to the floor. Your stays joined it. You felt cold in your shift, but you watched while he undressed himself. Under tunic, boots, breeches, all joined the growing pile on the floor. When the last of his clothes were disposed of you felt your cheeks burn. His body was covered in scars, from battles of old, but that was not all you saw. You quickly lower your gaze, but Éomer tutted and lifted your chin. “Yes?” He asked, his eyes never leaving you.

You were now more certain than ever. “Yes.”

In a move you have to admire, he scooped you up, set you down on the table. “Leg,” He ordered.

You stick out your left leg playfully, giggling when he struggled with the lacings of your shoe. “And here I thought armour was a trial.” Éomer chuckled as he finished up with one shoe and worked on the other. “Women’s fashions are never an easy business,” you teased. “Did your sister never tell you that?”

“More times than I care to recall.” He mumbled and hiked up the skirt of your shift. That too went over your arms and onto the floor. Your eyes dart to the door. “Someone could barge in.”

The door. It was closed, but not locked. Éomer quickly went over and made sure it was locked and bolted before coming back to you. “There,” He crooned and dipped to your neck, drawing out a gasp when his lips glided over your flesh. “No one,” he whispered as his teeth gently nipped. “Is going to disturb us now.”

While one hand hooked around your waist, holding you close, the other hand worked up your body, to your breasts. You felt jolts when he massaged a nipple between his fingers, when his teeth pressed down harder on your skin. You felt yourself grow wet and throb between your thighs. “Éomer,” you breathe, “Don’t stop.”

He loved that, loved hearing his name rolling over your lips. He kissed his way back up to your lips. “Your legs,” He mumbled against between kisses. “Spread them.”

You hesitate for the briefest of moments before resting your legs on your hips. Éomer rubbed the tip of his cock against your clit, drawing out another gasp out of you. You bit your lip, to try and contain your moans. Éomer didn’t want that, not one bit. “Let go for me.” He rasped as he slid in his cock, making your walls stretch for him. “I want to hear every sound you make.”

Every time he went a little further, his name rolled over your lips again, and again. It was like a drug to him, hearing his name spill from your lips. When you managed to open your eyes, rich hazel pulled you in. Éomer let go and plunged in completely, making you cry out as he sunk his cock as deep as he possibly could. Your eyes fly wide open. There’s no protection here, something could happen. “Éomer,” you breath when kisses glide over the shell of your ear. “This is r-risky,” he began nibbling on an earlobe, one arm holding it tight, the other playing with your nipple. “I-I c-could get,” your mind had grown foggy, your body overcome with lust. “I c-could get pregn--”

His kisses had stroked their way down to the curve of your neck. “And?” he mumbled against your skin, his breath growing ragged with each passing second. “What if I want you to carry my child?”

The surety and confidence in his words. “B-but the others--”

He bit down on your flesh again, his cock throbbing and pulsing in your cunt. “Fuck the others.” He pulled away again and cupped your cheek. “I am king, anyone who says speaks against my future wife answers to me.” He fingers gripped into your cheek when he kissed you again, this time with his tongue licking past your parted lips, making you tremble with desperate need. Your arms move away the table and circle his shoulders. It felt like your very breath was being pulled out from your lungs and unable to help yourself, you let one of your hands glide down, to his back. That nearly broke Éomer, and he started moving. Slowly again, gently, his arm around your waist tightened like a vice as he pumped you, bringing the both of you closer and closer to the edge. “Say you will stay,” he mumbled.

You whimpered into his shoulder. “Yes, I’ll stay.”

Éomer kissed your neck again, roughly this time, his teeth biting, his tongue running over the bruised skin. When he pushed in deep and you pulled on his hair, he almost sobbed, it felt so good. Still, he wanted to hear more. “Say you will be mine,” he lifted his head, rested his brow against yours. “Say it.”

Something about the way he said it got your pulse racing like made. “Yes. Yes I’ll be yours.”

When he growled and slammed into you, you bury your face into his shoulder, your moans growing louder, filling the room. Someone would hear, but you had gone beyond the point of caring. All that mattered was the man inside you, what he was making you feel. Your hands dig into his skin, you head rolling back when your orgasm neared. “É-omer,” you couldn’t hold on much longer. “Éomer, I-I’m g-going t-to--”

Teeth sank into your skin hard this time, making you cry out again. “Cum for me,” he grunted as he grabbed onto your hips, to go deeper. “Now.”

It grew intense, so intense, your muscles coiled and your cry was drowned when he crushed your lips with his. It felt like a switch had gone off, your body splintered and shattered as he continued to thrust past your pulsing walls. So overwhelming it was, you barely felt a tear streak its way down your cheek, the deep grunt he made when he whimpered your name and filled you with his seed. You could barely feel yourself breathe, you certainly could think. The world seemed to have a ground to a halt, and all that was there was you and the man on top of you.

Éomer held onto you, not wanting to let you go. He wanted to make this moment last, for it was the first time he had lain with you, and he hoped no one came to disturb either of you. His chest heaved, sweat gathered over his skin, over yours. “Y/n,” he murmured against your ear. “My queen.”

When he rested his brow on yours again, you disentangle yours arms, and cupped his cheeks. “My king.”

His kiss was tender now, chaste and sweet. “So, when do we tell the others?”

Your smile was as wide as his.

[gloomwitchwrites]

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[queenariesofnarnia]

a drinking game and pretty names 🍻

legolas x f!reader

a/n: here's a little ficlet no one asked for. i felt like writing it because i just did an extended edition marathon of the hobbit and lord of the rings :) it was also the first movies i ever wrote fanfics for 🤭

gif not mine

wc:375

You couldn’t help but let out your laughter as you watched Legolas and Gimli participate in their drinking game. Legolas looks unfazed by the drinks and Gimli is a drink away from sleeping on the floor in the Golden Hall tonight. You were nursing the pint of ale in your hand as you stand next to Éomer.

 “Here, here. It’s the Dwarves that go swimming with little, hairy women” Gimli belches. Causing you to snort taking a drink to cover it up.

“I feel something. A slight tingle in my fingers. I think it’s affecting me” Legolas says admiring his fingers. You shake your head laughing.

“What did I say? He can’t hold his liquor” Gimli’s words a bit slurred before his eyes cross and he falls to the floor. Laughter roars around the table.

“Game over” Legolas says shrugging, you join his side wishing Éomer a good night if you don’t cross paths again tonight. You link arms with the inebriated Legolas heading outside to enjoy the crisp night air and the stars.

“Did you have fun mellon?”(friend) your ask as you let go of his arm. He catches your hand before your arm drops to your side.

“I did meleth nîn”  (my love) he answered, the term of endearment throwing you off guard. You avert your eyes to the stars above instead of your entangled fingers. He gently calls to you to catch your attention. your eyes meet his piercing gaze. “You have such a pretty name, though meleth nîn suits you perfectly”

“So drinking games cause you to use endearments enril nîn?” (my prince) a smirk on your face as you question him getting over your bashfulness.

“The drinking game simply gave me the courage to use the endearment I’ve been waiting to call you for a long time” he says cupping your face with his free hand.

“For what it’s worth I think you have a pretty name as well. But I can always call you melethron”(masc.lover)  you suggest closing the gap. you could feel the crisp air dance along your face, but you focused on how his steady breathing fanned your lips. glancing from your eyes to your lips one last time he pulled you in for an overdue kiss.

end note: if anyone reads this thank you :) if not thats fine too!

[shirefantasies]

Horse-Maid- Eomer x F!Reader

I’ve been really wanting to do more one-shots, so here we are- enjoy this short little imagine 😘

“What happened to you, huh?”

Chuckling, you bent down to take up a brush. Sneoan, your horse, had somehow gotten a mess of leaves and brush tangled in his pure-white mane. Smiling at the way your horse’s eyes fluttered shut in contentment, you gently dragged the brush through the tangles, working out the leaves from the coarse hair with your fingers.

Your father had long cared for that stable, but ill health of late had driven him to grant its care to you, his eldest daughter. And with joy had you said yes! Your people’s love of horses carried naturally into your heart even without the wonder of seeing how your father groomed and sometimes armored your proud Riders’ mounts. Truly the trust he had for you to continue it was an honor.

Sneoan suddenly turned his head; you followed, gaze tracking the swing of stable doors. Thuds of boots and rustles of the hay littering the ground alerted you further to the presence of another.

“Where is Havner?” No malice colored the man’s tone, just a serious inquiry.

Finally turning around, you were met with an expression of curiosity across a face that perfectly matched his tone. Long golden hair fell to his shoulders and around the look of regal inquiry, swept as it was away from his dark eyes.

“Retired,” you replied simply, eyes trailing lightly across the man’s features as one of your hands still combed Sneoan’s mane.

The man’s brows arched and rose. “Ah, I see. That is news to me. Well, would you mind terribly directing me to the new master of the stable?”

Your hand finally faltered, a single freed leaf fluttering to the floor. “That would be me. Which of these fine horses is your mount?”

“You?”

“Yes.” A faint frown began creasing your forehead- for all his looks, was this man truly that dense?

“Never before have I seen a stable in the hands of a horse-maid,” he remarked.

Striding over to the wall where you rehung your hoof pick, you shrugged and gave a small roll of your eyes, not that the man could probably see it. “Well, now you have.”

“Why did Havner choose you?” He pressed on, shuffling closer as you tidied.

“My father chose me after years of training and even observing the farriers,” you countered, crossing your arms and smirking drily, “and if you really still doubt me, ride with me. See who completes the circuit faster.”

Apparently forgetting whatever errand had been at hand, the man shrugged lightly with a cocky look of his own. "Very well. Let's."

~

Sneoan saw you through. It was a tight race, but in the end you pulled ahead, creating a respectable difference in your finishes. Turning around, you fixed the stable man with a pointed look of satisfaction.

“You have bested me.” His grace and decency met you such that you felt shock; you’d expected more fight, greater upset at loss.

Your mouth opened once to speak, twice, before a reply emerged, your ire nearly all drained. “Indeed I have,” you replied, easing the grip you had on your reins as the both of you slowed down, “so?”

“So,” he shot back, “you have proven yourself a more than worthy heir to your father’s work.”

Squinting in the sun as you may have been, you caught the glint of pride in the man’s dark eyes. “You know, you are quite like my sister. You have spirit. She would be very fond of you.”

“Sounds as though she is of sound judgment,” you teased as your horse trotted evenly aside his, inclining your head his way.

“Indeed she is!” He chuckled, shaking some golden hair off his shoulder.

You smiled. “So, may I finally know my opponent’s name?”

The almost childish look of surprise that dashed across his face was something you couldn’t help a giggle at, feeling another rosy rush of warmth to your face complementing the sun’s touch.

“I never…” He cleared his throat, finally returning to his look of gentle stoicism. “Yes, well, my name is Éomer, son of Éomund. At your service.”

You gave your name in turn. “And I, it would seem, at yours. Your horse there? He’s a good one. Always puts up with my prodding. Don’t you, sir?” Reaching across to bridge the gap, you stroked the flowing mane of Éomer’s horse.

Leaning to look back up, you were surprised at the intensity in your fellow rider’s gaze, his eyes boring into yours. “He knows a good hand when he sees it. Might we do this again someday?”

“Have a race?” You replied, perhaps a bit dumbly, beneath that stare.

“I could try my hand at a rematch.” A smile teased upon his lips. “Or we could simply ride together. Whatever you prefer that day, I suppose. I will be happy for the company. What say you, horse-maid?”

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

Turning Points

Pairing: Éomer x reader (who doesn’t want to imagine themselves hanging out with Éomer??). Plus an Elfhelm cameo because I love that dude.

Summary: Éomer’s lifelong best friend reckons with how much and how quickly his life has changed as a result of the war and wonders what that means for the life she had hoped to have with him.

************

The clear, deep sound of horns rang out in the distance and alerted all of Edoras to the imminent arrival of the army, home for the first time since that urgent, panicked ride to Helm’s Deep more than two months ago. Although word of their subsequent deeds and victories in Gondor had already reached the city, many details were yet unknown, and the mood of those who gathered in the streets was celebratory but tinged with anxiety as hopeful eyes prepared to scan the returning éoreds for a first glimpse of deeply missed loved ones.

The terrace in front of Meduseld quickly filled with people, and you slipped easily into the crowd as the first few companies of horsemen began to climb the hill. The riders smiled broadly at the cheers and flowers that rained down on them, though some still bore clear evidence of painful wounds and fractures. Others led behind them riderless horses, the mounts of those soldiers who would never return. You whispered a quiet prayer of gratitude, knowing from the messengers who had gone back and forth from Minas Tirith that both of those most precious to you were safely in the host.

No sooner had you finished your prayer than a cry went up from the crowd–“Hail, Elfhelm, Marshal of Edoras!”—and your father came into view. As gregarious as he was popular, he played shamelessly to the crowd, doffing his stallion-crested helmet and waving a shield that had clearly been confiscated from some defeated Haradrim commander. When his eyes finally landed on you, he gave a joyful whoop and sprang from the saddle. Throwing the helmet and shield aside, he ran to you with the speed of a much younger man, and the strength of his embrace forced the breath from your lungs. He spun you around several times as you kissed his sunburned cheeks, and when he placed you on your feet again he grasped your shoulders and gazed for a long moment at your face.

“Many nights have I dreamed of just this view,” he said. “There is no finer one in all of Middle Earth.”

You gave his hands a squeeze. “I have not known a moment’s peace since you left. Now that you are back, I may never let you leave again.”

“I am at your command, my lady,” he said with a smile and an exaggerated bow. “But I do not flatter myself so much as to think that I am the only one you have been missing. The royal household will be arriving soon, and I am certain you are as eager to see the new king as he must be to see you.”

Your heart leaped in your chest at the mention of Éomer, but this was not the time or the place to open the gate that held back those feelings. “For my part, I shall certainly be glad to see him home and safe. But a man such as Éomer has many friends, and no doubt he desires to see them all.”

He burst into laughter. “Do you speak such nonsense on purpose, or have I really raised you to be so naive? I know that you do not admit it to others, and perhaps not even between yourselves, but I have watched the two of you for many years now and I know love when I see it. Let us not pretend you are just one friend among many, a single star in a crowded sky. You are his sun, just as he is yours. I may be old, but I am certainly not blind.”

Your face flushed in pain and embarrassment. If your father had perceived all of this, likely others had, too. It was true that you loved Éomer, and you had always believed he loved you back. You felt his devotion in the way he trusted you and watched out for you, in the look on his face when you walked into a room. But neither of you had ever stated it outright. Perhaps you had been wrong all along, reading a great deal too much into a cherished friendship. Or perhaps what he felt was no longer relevant given his new responsibilities and duties. Either way, when Éomer married another in a few months' time, your crushed hopes would be on display for the whole city to see and discuss.

“Things have changed, father. You know that. The Éomer that I have known all my life was Éomund’s son. He was not heir to the throne of Rohan and certainly not its king. His life is very different now from the one we might have expected just months ago when Théodred was still alive.”

He sighed. “Much has happened, I concede. He has gone from nephew to heir to king. He nearly lost his sister. He comes home with much to reflect on. But his heart itself has not changed.”

“Has it not?” Despite your best efforts, your voice broke and tears began to slide down your cheeks. “Then what of the news that has already made its way back here in advance of your return? Amongst word of your victories and the death of poor Théoden, it also said that Éomer is to marry the princess of Dol Amroth. They say she is considered a proper match for a king of the Mark, and that none less than the new king of Gondor himself proposed it. If I have heard this, surely you have, too.”

Your father reached up to gently brush a tear aside. “Anyone who would claim that you–the finest woman in all of Rohan–are not a proper match for our own king does not have sense enough to offer an opinion on the subject. I have heard this talk of Dol Amroth, it is true, but I have not heard any of it from Éomer’s own lips. And I will not believe it unless I do. His choice was made long ago. You will see.” He put a finger under your chin and tipped your face up to him. “Now, I would stay here and debate this with you all day if your mother were not surely waiting for me at home. And if she thinks I have not hurried there with sufficient speed, she will soon accomplish what all the swordsmen of Harad could not!”

You smiled in spite of yourself and kissed him one last time before he remounted his horse. He gave you a wink as he rode on, and you dried your eyes before turning back to the procession of riders making their way forward.

Before long, the king’s banner appeared at the bottom of the hill. Even at that distance, it was easy to identify Éomer among the many men of his household–you would always recognize his frame and the way he carried himself even if he were not wearing his distinctive horse-tailed helmet and sitting astride Firefoot, who had now been arrayed with a saddle and bridle that sparkled with the gold of a monarch.

As he came into closer view, you could begin to discern the new trappings of royalty–the beautiful green cloak trimmed with shining gold embroidery, the neatly braided hair, the fur-lined boots. But underneath these superficial changes, he still looked like your Éomer. The same man who shared with you a lifetime of confidences and mischief and private jokes. The one who cried in your arms when he missed his parents. Who doted on you whenever you were sick and angrily confronted anyone he thought had hurt your feelings. Who stole your breath every time he turned his hazel eyes and dimpled smile in your direction.

His company dismounted near the bottom of the terrace, and he moved toward the stairs, trailed by attendants, guards and throngs of well-wishers eager to greet their new king. The clamor presented a perfect opportunity to slip away now that you had confirmed with your own eyes that he was safe and unharmed. It was the coward’s way out, but even one more day before you had to directly confront your new reality would be a gift. Just as you began to turn away, however, the sound of his voice carried over the tumult, calling your name.

You froze in place as he approached, feeling immediately uncertain of everything–how to stand, where to look, what to do. A lifetime of affectionate greetings and easy companionship had not prepared you to meet under these circumstances, not as intimate friends but as ruler and subject. Beloved and left behind. Hearing nothing but the sound of your own blood pulsing in your veins, you bowed and looked down.

“Hail, Éomer King.” When you finally raised your eyes, you could see uncertainty written on his face as well. He took another step toward you but stopped, and tentatively reached out a hand before dropping it back to his side. He looked in both directions, where dozens of attentive faces observed his every move.

“I am glad to see you,” he said quietly. His eyes sought yours, and when you allowed them to meet he gave you a soft smile. “I have missed you.”

“I…I am much relieved to see you home. These have been long and anxious months.”

Before either of you could speak again, an armored man at Éomer’s side cleared his throat and nodded in the direction of Meduseld. “You are expected in the hall, my lord. There is much business awaiting your attention, including messages due both to Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth.”

The mention of Dol Amroth sent an icy stab of pain into your chest, and you shrank back several steps, seeking a swift retreat. “Go ahead, my lord,” you managed to say. “A king’s duties must come first.”

His thick brows drew together and he frowned slightly, but eventually he nodded his assent. Your feet carried you away and down a maze of small streets and back alleys, picking up speed as you got further from the crowd, until at last you reached the edge of the city and disappeared into the surrounding fields and paddocks. You cast yourself down in the tall, sweet-smelling grass, shedding tears until you had none left and then staring up dolefully at the flat, blank sky. No matter how you considered and reconsidered your position, only two excruciating choices seemed to lay before you–either to find a new way to love Éomer, shorn of all romantic possibility and content to exist on the terms available to you, or to lose him entirely from your life. The first option felt beyond your strength, but the second was utterly unthinkable.

Uncounted hours passed until it began to darken and torches and candles sparked to life in the distance. Miserable and cold but not yet ready to join the revelry of your family, you wandered back to the city and found yourself headed to the old tack room at the marshal’s stables. Ever since childhood, the abandoned little storage space had served as a private spot to meet your friends, talk or simply to think, and during the war you had spent many hours there alone ruthlessly poring over your fears and concerns.

Throwing open the door and expecting to find it empty as always, you instead walked straight into Éomer, practically bouncing off his chest as he stood just past the threshold. Gone were the outward adornments of royalty, and he looked as you were accustomed to seeing him—simple clothing, well-used boots, hair in loose waves on his shoulders. “Éomer! I mean….I’m sorry. Excuse me, my lord.”

He grimaced a little. “Please, that is not necessary here. Not when it is us. I would like one piece of my old life that is familiar, someone who will still treat me not as king but as myself. I thought you might be here and hoped we could talk as we always have.”

He sat on an old saddle trunk and looked up at you expectantly. Here now was the first opportunity to test your strength—to be there for him simply as a friend and see if you could endure it—and so you nodded and sat next to him.

He was quiet at first, looking around the room and seeming lost in thought. The issue of his pending marriage felt to you like a heavy, palpable presence in the room, but you did not have the heart to raise the subject yet. Instead, you clasped your arms around yourself and waited for him to speak, to give some indication of what he was thinking.

“Do you remember my fifteenth birthday?” he asked suddenly.

“Your…fifteenth birthday? Yes, I think so.” Fragments of distant memories quickly reassembled in your mind. “That was the night you dragged a stolen cask of ale in here, wasn’t it? And then you drank more than half of it all on your own.”

“Which meant you had to spend the rest of the night holding back my hair while I experienced the consequences.”

You smiled. “Yes. Though I experienced some of your consequences, too, if I recall. Those shoes were never the same again.”

He snorted a laugh, and for just a moment things felt almost normal again. Easy and light, as they had been when you were just those two coltish teenagers, having fun and testing the limits of your adolescent independence. But as the laughter faded, the awkwardness returned and his face turned serious.

“I am sorry about this morning.” He shook his head slowly. “That was not how I imagined our reunion, but everything has become so difficult and formal now. I have few moments to myself or chances to do as I once would.”

You could hear in his voice the strain of this adjustment to always being the focus of attention, to being one who is honored and deferred to instead of one who is engaged with. No wonder he was thinking of earlier, simpler days. You longed to comfort him, to take his hand or sit with your head against his shoulder. “Do not apologize,” you said instead. “I understand that you have new demands on you. I regret only that I was not able to tell you how sorry I am about your uncle. I will miss his kind heart.”

He nodded. “Thank you. I take comfort in knowing that he would be proud of what his death achieved.”

Another small silence ensued before he looked up and smiled at you. “But now I must apologize again,” he said, “for I have not yet asked after you. Please, tell me how you have been since we last saw each other.”

You gave a dismissive wave of your hand. “There is not much to tell, at least nothing to stand alongside the great tales we have already heard of your heroic deeds.”

“I do not ask for great tales,” he insisted. “I want only to hear about you and what I have missed, great or small.”

“Well, what you missed were endless hours of inventories and supplies and checklists and stockpiles. Many of the men who typically see to those basic concerns were injured or killed at Helm’s Deep, or they were called away to your muster. So I filled my days with work that they would have done…tracking stores of food and medicine and equipment, ensuring they were sent where they were most needed, planning for replenishments when stocks ran low. It was nothing I have ever done before, obviously, but I am careful with numbers and can keep good records, which is most of what was required.”

He chuckled. “Old Elfhelm has always been so proud that his daughter is one of the few in Rohan to read and write. I heard him bragging as much to one of Lord Elrond’s sons back in Gondor.”

You smiled and shrugged. “That certainly sounds like him. He has never lacked paternal enthusiasm. Or the confidence to share his enthusiasm with literally anyone.”

“That is true, but he is right to be proud. You should be proud as well. Hunger and disease often follow in war’s footsteps, even for the victors, and that has not been allowed to happen here despite the destruction of so many villages and farms and the absence of so many of the normal laborers. That is a service any king would value.”

Your cheeks bloomed a bright red, and he smiled at your discomfort with praise. In truth, though, you were quite proud of what you had accomplished, and it was only hearing the praise from his lips that sent waves of warm color to your face. “Thank you,” you mumbled at last.

He seemed on the verge of speaking again, but instead he leaned back against the wall and contemplated the floor for several long moments. His knee jogged quickly up and down, a nervous tic he’d had ever since boyhood. Before you could ask what was troubling him, however, he looked up with an unsettling intensity.

“May I ask you something? And you will respond to me honestly, no matter what?”

His earnest tone sparked a flare of anxiety in your chest. Was this the moment when he intended to tell you of his engagement? When you would have to somehow react to this news with the graciousness and dignity you knew were required? “I will certainly try.”

He took a deep breath and winced slightly in anticipation of speaking. “I have spent many hours now reflecting on things that Éowyn related to me before I left Gondor. How she did not feel that she was able to live the life she wanted when she was here. That she could not be who she was meant to be simply because she was born a woman. I am ashamed that I was blind to the causes of her unhappiness and that she did not feel that she could confide her true feelings to me earlier. But having failed her then, I worry now that I may have failed others in my life as well. Others who are equally important to me.”

He suddenly turned and grasped your forearms, repositioning you both so that you now sat face to face rather than side by side.

“If you have ever felt that same unhappiness or believed that I was not willing or able to understand your feelings, will you now forgive me? I would not want anyone else to suffer as Éowyn did, and least of all you.”

Your heart broke a little at his words. It broke for Éomer, who would sooner give his life than intentionally hurt someone he cared for, and it broke for Éowyn, whose full feelings had never before been revealed to you. But, hearing now how she had felt, something in her words resonated with a deep part of you, reverberating off a chord you had not always been consciously aware of. You thought carefully for several moments before responding.

“If you ask me whether I ever resented you or the life that I led, the answer is no. I have always trusted in you above all others, and my life never felt anything but normal to me. But I, too, have reflected on these last months, and perhaps I can now better understand Éowyn’s mind.”

He nodded, encouraging you to continue.

“Amid the tragedy of these days, I found some purpose and meaning in the work I did. It was gratifying to feel truly useful for the first time. I did not know it before, as you do not know to miss something you never had, but once that instinct is awakened it is difficult to ignore. It seems it was awakened in Éowyn long ago. But, for myself, I cannot deny that I will now be deeply saddened to lose my sense of purpose once the men are all returned to their old duties and the help of a woman is no longer accepted.”

“Maybe that is not what has to happen,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I would not come to a new understanding of the world, to learn a necessary lesson at a steep cost, only to ignore that lesson and rule my kingdom as though I do not know any better. This will not be a land that I want to rule if half the people must always limit their talents and hopes to fit within the meager bounds afforded to them by the other half.”

His words hung in the air as you struggled to make sense of what you had heard. A chance to share in the great works and deeds of the kingdom, just as the elven women had always done in their own lands? To learn and achieve and stretch yourself in ways that had never before been possible, and not just when dictated by the necessity of war but as a part of everyday life? You had scarcely the courage to even dream of such a thing, but now it was being offered to you. And you knew you wanted it. “I will be the first to stand behind you in any such effort,” you say at last. “But what you suggest is a radical departure from the way that things have been for all the years of our history, indeed from the way that they have always been in all the lands of men. There may be strong opposition to change.”

“I do not fear a difficult task if I know it to be necessary. I will see it done.” He paused and gently picked up your hand to hold it between both of his. “Though I would be aided by the help of a capable queen. One who will rule with me, not as a token or a symbol, but as a true partner.”

His touch sent a jolt of lightning through your arm, and you looked down at your hand to watch his thumb run lightly back and forth over your wrist. It left a trail of fire on your skin. “I…Well, I do not think I understand. Surely you mean Prince Imrahil’s daughter?”

“Imrahil’s daughter?” He looked startled. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“Because news of a royal engagement travels quickly, perhaps faster than you realize. Half of Edoras has already heard about you and the princess of Dol Amroth.”

“Then half of Edoras has heard wrong.”

A small gasp escaped your lips before you could act to hold it back. You looked up into his eyes and drew a shallow breath. “Then…then you have changed your mind?”

“I have not, but only because it never needed changing. I am certain that any daughter of Imrahil is a good and worthy woman, but I declined that match when it was suggested. Any report to the contrary is the result of confusion or rumor. It is true that I am ready for marriage, but I do not wish to bind myself forever to someone I barely know. To someone whose heart and mind I do not yet fully understand. Not when my own heart has long been reserved for one who I already know to be the best of women.” He drew your hand up and pressed it tightly to his chest, where you could feel the steady, strong beat of that heart against your fingertips. “If she will have me.”

All the world seemed suddenly still, as though you were balanced precariously on the crest of a hill, waiting for the last tip forward that would send you rushing headlong down into a new and joyous life. You opened your mouth to respond but found that no words would come. Instead, you raised a hand to his face, lightly tracing your fingers along his jaw before sinking them into his dark golden hair and pulling him toward you for a kiss that had been decades in the making.

It was worth the wait.

[enchantedflameandflower]

My Karl Urban Masterlist should be completely updated now! If there’s a broken link or a missing drabble please let me know!

I want to give a special shoutout to a handful of recent readers who have gone through and liked every part of my long Billy story Glimmer as they read. You have no idea how much this means to me to see you like each part one after the other as you go along, it literally makes me feel so much love. Thank you so much!!! @integalacticspacemonkey @chocolategiverzombie @aaahhal-blog

andddd @dustie-faerie @smallsadjellyfish @purplegirl98 (and to everyone that is reading and has read!) ❤️

I am working on part 39 of this fic and have some fun things coming up. This is my priority so please don’t lose hope! It was a rough summer and an even rougher September, but I never give up, especially not on Billy (or Len or Gavin or John or Éomer or or or) ❤️🫶🏻🫠🔥😍🥰😘🥹😘

[areyouwell]

Characters;

Film:

Logan Howlett

Natasha Romanoff

Wanda Maximoff

Thorin Durin

Fili Durin

Aragorn

Éomer

Éowyn

Anime:

Levi Ackerman (I have a dedicated blog to this man)

Kento Nanami

Satoru Gojo

Ieiri Shoko

Phobophobia: Logan Howlett x Mutant!F!Reader

You'd been away for two years, travelling across America to find mutants before they experienced the worst moments of their lives. Returning from your travels, you find your position taken, your bedroom commandeered, and your heart stolen by a certain new professor.

[dreamlandcreations]

The Heart of the Dark Flame masterlist

Éomer x half elf!Reader

Summary: You follow the Fellowship after they lose Gandalf, only to join them just before they meet the exiled Rohirrim led by Éomer... (another fic inspired by a conversation with @kind-wolf 🖤)

• Éomer masterlist • Main Masterlist • Moodboards masterlist •

Chapter 1 • The Ring

• Éomer masterlist • Main Masterlist • Moodboards masterlist •

• Taglist •

[i-did-not-mean-to]

October 27th 🔥

Mutual Masturbation & Orgasm Denial

So, here's the last Kinktober prompt for this month...

Requested by the lovely @scyllas-revenge about the darling Éomer...

@laurfilijames because she's a babe and my most beloved smut-expert!

Have fun and remember the warnings, please! This is NSFW!

Words: 1,1k

Warnings: NSFW, smut, porn, mutual masturbation

“You have to be quiet,” Éomer whispered urgently as he towards you with all the confidence of a senior commander about to brief an officer; at this distance though, you could clearly see the flash of dark desire in his beautiful, deep eyes.

At the foot of the hill, the rest of the company was getting ready to settle in for the night but – as you had the first watch – you were casually leaning against a tree while surveying the surroundings with a placid eye; it had been months since the last sighting of intruders and roving orc bands, so you were not expecting anything major to be discovered during this scouting trip.

While you had been scanning the rolling hills, Éomer had finally made his way to you; he was now standing very near to you as if to shield you from the cool wind that was stronger here than in the valley.

“My king?” you smirked and gasped when his hand moved forward as if to rest on the rough bark of the tree behind you but snaked between your thighs instead. “What are you doing?”

“Hush,” he laughed and stepped even closer to you; if you could see the men spreading out their bedrolls, they could just as easily lift their gazes and see you. Of course, from their vantage point, it would be near impossible for them to tell much distance truly was between your king and your body which was something that self-same man seemed to take advantage of.

The smell of leather, wet earth, and man made your head spin and – almost despite yourself – you reached out to him and touched a shivering, grasping hand to his chest over the thin tunic he was wearing, having recklessly left his armour by his bedroll, at an angle that would make it impossible to see your movements from below.

“My pretty one,” he growled in his throat while his fingers, moving deftly over your worn, soft leggings until you felt your knees buckle, drove the heat into your cheeks.

You bit down hard on your lower lip to keep from crying out as Éomer cupped your mound roughly and – applying steady pressure – ground the heel of his hand against the very spot where you needed friction the most; as you whimpered softly, rocking eagerly into his seeking touch, you could see his eyes darken even further and the bulge between his own legs swell quickly.

Emboldened by his forwardness and secure in the certitude that the other members of your company could not divine what passed between the two of you, you dropped your hand from his chest to the lacings of his trousers and started undoing them with trembling fingers.

As soon as you had freed his cock, you slung your fingers tightly around it and started pumping your hand so slowly that his eyes rolled back into his head with unspoken pleasure.

Time slowed to a crawl around you as your digits teased and enticed one another to the point of cursing the Gods, the company slumbering peacefully, and the bare hill you were standing on bitterly. If only you had been in a densely wooded area, he might have pushed you up against the tree – shielded from prying eyes – and plunged into you as into a clean stream.

Unfortunately, that was not an option at this present time and so, you were forced to feel sticky moisture seep through the garment clinging to your shivering thighs as he increased both the pace and the pressure of his caresses while his other hand slipped under your loose tunic to massage your breast, short nails scraping tantalisingly over your hardened nipples.

A muffled sob escaped you and your hand tightened around his cock, relishing the smooth heat it exuded as it glided heavily through your fingers, slippery with the clear liquid oozing from its tip. Your mouth was watering with yearning; how you would have loved to sink to your knees and close your prickling lips around his impressive girth to watch him throw back his head as he did when he rode, bareback, on a wild stallion down the steep slopes of his homeland.

“Not yet, my beautiful love,” he chuckled darkly, the endearments dripping like molten wax off his lips that were too far for you to ravage with frantic kisses and so you merely scowled and redoubled the force of your own assault on him.

With a strangled moan, he punished you by reverting to featherlight, teasing caresses where there had been fire and urgency just a moment before; the tide of black lust rising in your throat and constricting your airways turned into torturous emptiness and yearning as he went on – for quite some time – just touching you ever so delicately.

His face was flushed a dark, pulsating crimson with frustration now as you had matched his cruelty by simply squeezing the base of his prick tightly without granting him any of those silken strokes he so longed for.

“I can’t,” you gasped as your hips jerked towards him, begging him in ways your pride would not allow your mouth to put into words.

“Together then,” he whispered huskily, “but remember, we have to be quiet.”

While the upstanding, honourable members of your company slept soundly, you slammed your head into the tree that held you up with a muted bang as Éomer gave in to your wordless pleading and – nimble fingers aflutter and sturdy hand grinding down on your most vulnerable spots – pushed you over the edge of a delirious climax. 

The world that had held its breath around you for too long came alive again with a mighty roar and your whole body shivered; the spasms of your orgasm loosened your hands and – as your fingers sought purchase anywhere they could – you inadvertently pulled your king into the abyss alongside you.

Spurts of white liquid fell like moon tears onto the green grass between you and he sagged against you, his head resting heavily on your fully clothed shoulder.

If anyone was still awake, they’d wonder what important piece of advice or order their captain and king had to impart so urgently that he’d walk up the hill and stay there – in deep, intimate conversation – with the soldier on duty for such a long moment.

Nevertheless, you sincerely hoped that nobody had witnessed this scene because – even if they could not have seen what had passed between Éomer and you – the ragged breath, the flushed faces, and the sated smiles echoing back and forth between your moonlit faces would have been enough to let anyone know that this had not been strictly professional. 

So, that was it for the smut from me this month :D

Lots of love and take care of yourselves!

-> Masterlist

[wordbunch]

✨ wordbunch masterlist ✨

Lord of the Rings/ The Hobbit

➳ HEADCANONS

➳ multiple characters (x reader)

you’re in the fellowship and the hobbits have a crush on you

how the hobbits look after you when you’re sick

the fellowship reacts to you singing

LOTR characters taking care of an overworked partner

the fellowship meeting their partner’s family

how you look after the hobbits when they’re sick

LOTR/TH characters with an extroverted partner

hobbits with a partner whose love language is physical touch

hobbits ft. cuddles and kisses

the fellowship tries to set you up on a date

how they take care of a sick/injured partner

their love song (taylor swift edition) - LOTR characters

their love song (taylor swift edition) - the hobbit characters

how you pamper them when they're stressed/overworked (lotr + th characters)

➳  one character (x reader)

being a ranger with Aragorn

Boromir with a hyper partner who infodumps

➳  multiple characters (no reader)

the fellowship in a college dorm (modern au)

great middle-earth bakeoff (the fellowship)

➳  one character (no reader)

random Pippin headcanons

➳ MULTI-CHAPTER STORIES

“Winter Forest” (Legolas x female reader): part one /// part two /// part three

“One Lifetime With You” (various characters x elf reader): BOROMIR /// FARAMIR

"Hopeless" (Pippin x female reader): part one /// part two

➳ SFW ALPHABETS

Éowyn

Boromir

Éomer

Aragorn

Legolas

Pippin

Frodo

➳ ONE-SHOTS

“better company” (Sam x Reader)

"a little secret" (TH Bilbo x Reader)

The Rings of Power

➳ HEADCANONS

➳ multiple characters (x reader)

how they comfort you when you miss your family (Galadriel, Arondir, Elrond, Celebrimbor, Gil-galad) 

their love song (taylor swift edition) - the rings of power characters

➳  one character (x reader) 

being in love with Elrond

Elrond getting jealous

rivals to lovers with Elrond

Elrond as a dad

➳ SFW ALPHABETS

Elrond

Galadriel

Isildur

➳  ONE-SHOTS

“reminiscence” (Elrond x Reader)

“perfectly proper” (Elrond x Reader)

“strong, brave, lovely” (Elrond x Reader)

"countertop confessions" (Isildur x Reader)

"healer's healer" (Elrond x Reader)

"oh, how unreasonable" (Halbrand x OC/reader)

Random

my re-read of The Hobbit - thoughts

PLEASE CONSIDER REBLOGGING if you enjoyed a fic, so more people can potentially see it!

[sotwk]

I was wondering who are your fancasts for your headcanon world?

<33

Hiiii Quickie! @quickslvxrr

Am I right in guessing that your question was prompted by my reblog of your reblog of Charlie Hunnam's gif set? XD

Because if so, I will just say that I am very excited to have selected Charlie as my fancast for Théodred of Rohan! (Excited because I hope to start writing chapters of my Eomer x OC fic soon, which actually co-stars dear Théodred.)

I have a growing fancast list for the SotWK AU! I still need to get around to making an official and complete list, but since you seem curious, here is majority of what I have so far.

Apart from Reader Insert stories I write in response to requests, all fics and characters I create are grounded in the SotWK AU, so these characters exist consistently across and crossover between my stories.

SotWK AU Fancast List (a work in progress)

The Royal Family of the Woodland Realm

Elvenking Thranduil - Lee Pace

Elvenqueen Maereth - Jennifer Connelly

Crown Prince Mirion - Henry Cavill

Prince Turhir - Sam Heughan

Prince Arvellas - Rupert Friend 

Prince Gelir - Sam Claflin

Prince Legolas - Orlando Bloom

Crown Princess Itarildë  - Teresa Palmer

(later Crown) Prince Aranion - Bradley James

Princess Anariel- Gabriella Wilde 

Elvenking Oropher - Jason Isaacs

Greenwood Elves

Darthol (Gelir's birth-mate) - Dan Stevens

Olondir (cousin of the Thranduilions) - Jake Gyllenhaal

Rivendell Elves

Elrond - Hugo Weaving

Celebrían - Connie Nielsen 

Nimeithel (oc cousin of Celebrían & mother of Itarildë) - Rebecca Ferguson

Elladan - Richard Madden

Elrohir - Sebastian Stan

Silmarillion / First Age Ancestors

Glorfindel - ???? -still searching!-

Elemírë (oc wife of Glorfindel & sister of Elenwë) - Vanessa Kirby

Maglor/Kanafinwë - Ben Barnes

Velcálë (oc wife of Maglor) - Zendaya Coleman

Círdan the Shipwright - Iain Glen

Eäriel (oc wife of Círdan) - Olivia Hussey

Eärondir (oc son of Círdan & father of Maereth) - Alexander Skarsgard  

Laurinwen (oc mother of Maereth) - Lily Collins

Dwarves / Line of Durin

Durin III, King of Khazad-dûm- Hugh Jackman 

Frerin, son of Thrain - Gerard Butler

Gondorians

Aerdis (oc love interest of Boromir) - Freida Pinto 

Anarlas (brother of Aerdis) - Oscar Isaac

Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth - Eric Bana

Ivriniel - Isabella Rossellini

Finduilas - Monica Bellucci

Erchirion - Adam Driver

Lothíriel - Gal Gadot

Rohirrim

Théodred - Charlie Hunnam

Signyr (oc shield-maiden & Éomer's love interest) - Katheryn Winnick

Léodor (oc in Éomer's Éored) - Chris Hemsworth

Héothain (oc in Éomer's Éored) - Will Poulter

Haradrim

to be revealed OC - Pedro Pascal

YUP. I almost didn't want to insert that little spoiler of my upcoming fic, but I'm just too excited about fancasting the widely adored Pedro Pascal in my AU. It will be one heck of a character, too! I am SO VERY excited to create Harad OCs (Pedro's will be the main one)!

Thank you for the Ask! Although this list is still messy and incomplete, answering it puts me one step closer to getting an official fancast list done! :)

Just tagging people whom I think/hope might be interested in this:

@hobbitwrangler @scyllas-revenge @ass-deep-in-demons @emmanuellececchi @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras @konartiste @hippodameia @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @achromaticerebus @aduialel @asianbutnotjapanese @entishramblings @heilith @ladyweaslette @laneynoir @quillofspirit @stormchaser819 @g-m-kaye @mirra-kan @alwayssevvy @marsharmonicorchestra @laurfilijames @coopsgirl @jane0error @jezzibee @lathalea @cuarthol

Other useful links:

Introduction to SotWK

SotWK HC Masterlist

Fanfiction Masterlist

Fanfiction Request Guidelines

[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.”

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