#eomer of rohan x reader

[n0tamused]

Hi! Id like to request a eomer x plus size reader if you’re comfortable, maybe she’s a seamstress and makes eowyns dresses. You can honestly do this however you want. I just feel like there’s such a lack of Eomer fics out there that’s my husband 🙏🏻

A/n: Thank you so much for the request, I had so much fun writing this one! <3 I do hope you liked it! Although I am comfortable with plus-sized reader or chubby reader, I failed to see an opportunity to mention any body shape here, so I do hope I haven't failed you lol. If you have any advice or insight on what you'd like to see more of, let me know :) <3 Pleas enjoy! And- There is definitely such a lack of Eomer fics..

Contents: Eomer x F!Reader, fluff, reader is a seamstress, established relationship

Words: 1164

Morning came chill and yellow, pale golden rays coming through in thin lances through the curtain covering the windows. A fire was already moving in the big stone hearth and it was not long until the room began to feel too warm. But you sat on a cushioned chair next to the window, warmed by the fire behind you and cooled by the breeze that slipped through the cracks near the milky glass. Needlework was a tasking thing, yet one you enjoyed regardless of how frustrating it may be at times. Once you had tried to teach the craft to lady Eowyn, but all your efforts saw no fruition, as the shieldmaiden’s blood ran hot within her and gave no surrender to tasks more delicate.

As strong headed as a bull she is, you thought as you let your mind drift past the heralding of wars and bad omens. Too much has been happening lately, too much. These little works of embroidery were all you had to keep your mind satiated and at peace. Before you knew it, the image before you was becoming more intricate. It would seem Lady Eowyn would have a rather detailed dress, more detailed than any other. Quickly, but not hastily, the needle worked its way through the cloth like a warm dagger through butter. In and out, sowing and painting with threads of yellow and black and green and white. Your needle worked to the sound of your humming, a needle song, as you called it. Yet today was not the day that your needle would hear the end of the song. The heavy wooden door had opened so suddenly and so quickly that your needle dipped through the cloth like a sword, drawing blood from the finger underneath. Hissing, you let the embroidery fall to your lap along with the needle, pressing onto the sting with your other hand. You couldn’t forsake formalities even then, however much you wished to scold this somebody.

“My lord Eomer!” formalities fell from your lips before you had the chance to even settle on the features of his face. Gold spun locks fell down the sides of his face, swaying as he came to an abrupt stop to survey the room. His brows furrowed and his lips tightened. “May I help you?” you asked him, and his honeyed eyes fell on your form, blinking as if cast from a trance.

“It is my sister I was hoping to find here with you. I had thought she would be here learning your craft from you, as she did before”. Confusion could not be helped as it crawled onto your face, but the manner in which he said so made a smile fight to curl your lips in disbelief.

“Lady Eowyn?” you lowered your hands into your lap, fingers still clamped over your little stinging injury. “Lady Eowyn has long since stopped giving her ear to my words. The skill does not suit her, nor I try to force her to do it. Did you not know?” you finally settled on the reply, seeing confusion and anticipation ringing through the horse-lord’s head. You had to wonder whether there was air in there alone in this moment, has he become blind to his sister’s character? 

His lips fall apart, then close, his eyes looking to the side as he realizes his own error and then they close. Nodding his head slowly Eomer sighs, shoulders falling and his hand rests on the pommel of his sword. “I see.. I should have expected it..” It is a veiled whisper, hiding behind itself a minor feeling of foolishness, but he does not hope to weigh himself down with it. 

“I apologize if I had startled you, my lady” he then spoke, blurted more so as his eyes fell to the hands in your lap. “Have you hurt yourself?” he added, taking a few big strides and closing the distance between the two of you. 

"No-.." You didn’t get to reply before he was extending his hand down and silently asking to take yours. The gesture made the words melt on your tongue, you could only obey the silent request and put your hand in his. The small dot began to bleed again in the absence of applied pressure, sliding down the length of your finger. “It is only a small thing, it causes me no bother, Eomer..” you whispered, lashes fluttering as you gazed up at him. 

“Nonsense.. I caused this” he speaks lightheartedly yet seriously all at once and then he dips to one knee before you, your hand cupped in two of his own. Warmth flooded your cheeks as his lips found your hurt after wiping away the droplet of blood, kissing each knuckle of the finger and then turning your hand over to kiss the top of your hand as well. By the time you found yourself from your frozen minds, you managed to slap him on the shoulder, giggling in disbelief as well as the light-headedness he managed to cause. “Eomer!” you giggle, snatching your hand away. You were half tempted to throw the embroidery frame at his face were his teasing smile any bigger.  “You forget yourself, my lord” you press the word ‘lord’, eyes lit up in mischief. 

“Why, I was only hoping to provide my lady an apology and some comfort for the hurt I caused..” he whispered as he looked up at you, lingering a moment longer before standing up. The odd and dark days had made it so that Eomer had little to no time to spend in private with you, so he could only find excuses to swiftly stop by wherever you are, linger for a moment and leave with an unspoken promise to come back again. Sometimes he’d leave flowers too, other times he’d leave you with more feelings than touches. All the time he was surrounded by  people and duty, and you had your own to attend to as well.

But for a moment now, it all seemed much worth it. 

“Join me for dinner tonight, my lady?” he asked, tone even and expectant, that deep timbre of his, sure as the ground he walked on, as steady as him. 

“If that is an order, who am I to dare deny it?” you say, smiling up at him. 

“Good. In that case I cannot wait to have your company join mine, soon enough. Until then… I am hoping you will accept another request of mine?”

“And that is..?”

“Help me find my sweet little sister” he says, releasing a deep breath of exhaustion, even if the day barely started. You scoff, smiling even wider, not at all unfamiliar with Eowyn’s antics and character.

“I can only help if my lord promises to see this wound healed with his own healing in the upcoming days”

His eyes find yours, smiling a smile of their own as warmth fills his heart in some childish light, kindled fire burning gentle yet strong. “You have my word, my lady”

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[ohnonotnow]

my library

here's some of the best the hobbit/lotr fanfics I've read cuz they can be quite hard to find and I wanna help

will update the list as I read

Thorin

Smoke, iron and Thorin

Fire and Gold

Learning Khuzdul

Braid of Gold

Thorin being soft

The Beauty of Chance

Those Hands

Misunderstanding

The arrival

A king's crown

Covered In Steam

There's just inches in between us

Thorin after a long day of training with his nephews

In This Moment 

Agreement

Symphony of your life

Oh so quiet

Confession

Find Your Way Back

Fili

fili oneshots

Moonrise

The Most Unpleasant, Defective, and Abominable Incident

Stay with me

The Redeemer

Durin's Garage

Restless

Lost My Way

Charcoal

Kili

The book keeper

insecurities

The beauty and the Beast

getting back at Kili for teasing

My Treasure

Madly in love

It's in his kiss

Love Bites

Sway With Me

Wood Carvings

Softly. . .

Sweet like nectar

A Shot in the Dark

Beorn

Early Mornings

Beorn takes care of you when you're injured

Linger

Legolas

Watcher of Wanderers

The Innocence of Brutality

Blessing

Sensitive

Being best friends with Legolas

Hazy Memories

Spellbound

Thranduil

Bookworm

Relax

Best friends father

Fascination

Flower On My Skin

To Meet Under the Stars

Passenger Princess

Autumn Thunderstorm

I Could Love You With My Eyes Closed

Haldir

Gentle Dark

Lindir

My Heart Is In Your Hands

Moonlight

Just a Little Help

Warriors Great Tales

The Fountain

Return to Me

Èomer

Burnt Bread

A Helping Hand

Wildest Dreams

Falling In Love With A Librarian

SFW alphabet

Happiness

A Roll in the Hay

Blessing

Turning Points

More characters

various characters oneshots

Imagine: elves having highly sensitive ears and you finding out by accidently touching them.

Journey to Erebor

Hair braiding

Elves + Braiding

What Type of Kisser is Each LoTR Character?

The Hobbit Characters + Physical Affection (Suggestive Version)

A Headcanon For Each Member of Thorin’s Company

Cuddling With Thorin's Company

Imagine some of the elves of Middle Earth find out how easy it is to make you (a human staying in Rivendell) blush and become aroused.

The LOTR characters reacting to a modern reader

[witchthewriter]

𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐚 𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐳ⵑ

Who Is Your LoTR Soulmate🌷͙֒✧˚.⋆

[zepskies]

AS TRADITION DICTATES

Pairing: Éomer x Reader 

Summary: Your marriage to the Third Marshal of the Mark has been arranged in the hopes of renewing political ties between Rohan and Gondor. The morning after the ceremony, your new husband continues to defy your expectations.

AN: I’ve been wanting to write something for Éomer for a while now, so here we go! Confession: this one-shot actually comes from an Éomer x OFC story I have fully outlined, called The Appeasement Bride. I adapted this snippet into a reader insert story.

Word Count: 1.7K

Posted on Patreon: 1/21/2025

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Spiciness, fluff, newlyweds trying to suss each other out lol.

You woke just after the dawn, the sun peeking over the horizon and filtering through the open window. Its light began to wash over your face and stir you from a deep, well-earned sleep.

Your hand slipped out from under your head and drifted over…and you frowned. Opening your eyes, you realized that your husband’s side of the bed was empty and cold. Already, it seemed, he didn’t care to be with you when you woke. Had you done something wrong?

Flashes of memory from the night before conjured in your mind; of the surprising carefulness in his calloused hands, of hot, sweat-slick skin against yours, and the rasp of his beard as his lips and deft fingers taught you more of pleasure.

A shiver ran down your spine, blooming some warmth between your legs. Surely, if you had displeased him, he would’ve told you so. Or maybe he was polite enough to withhold that from you, along with most of his other thoughts. Éomer was often so stoic, it was difficult for you to learn your husband, even before the wedding ceremony yesterday.

You had come to Rohan over a month ago, and in that time, you had been able to glean precious little about him other than the ones he seemed to value most: his sister, his cousin, his uncle, Théoden King, his country, and his horse.

Not that he told you any of these things in words. You saw it in his actions—by the way he carried himself, and the way he spoke to you and others with fairness and courtesy, not arrogance. You’d heard gossip of his infamous temper, but so far, you had not seen it.

Nor did you see him now.

Perhaps he had more pressing work to do. In these past few weeks, you saw a bit of how demanding his station could be, and you understood his duty to patrol the Riddermark as Third Marshal of these lands. However, if he could’ve just been courteous enough to wake you before he left—

The heavy door of the bed chamber opened to Éomer himself. He wore only breeches and boots, his wheat-blonde hair loose and unadorned down his back. You swallowed a surprised gasp and watched him from the bed, unconsciously bringing the fur blanket up to your shoulders.

He met you with a polite, “Good morning,” before he continued inside to stoke the fire. He held more kindling wood in his arms, and he laid it on the platform before the fireplace.

“Good morning,” you nodded, though your cheeks warmed in a blush at the sight of his bare chest (you remembered that slightly wooly patch well). The defined muscles of his shoulders and arms shifted with his movements.

You were also a little embarrassed for overthinking.

“You rose early,” you added belatedly, for lack of something better to say.

“I am accustomed to it,” he said.

He finished with the fire and stood. You couldn’t help the way he captured your gaze, his measured steps bringing him closer to the bed. You sat up to meet him, the furs draping from your body, covering only where you held the soft fabric over your breasts. His eyes were an interesting shade of green as they roamed over you.

“How did you sleep?” he asked.

Somehow it was not what you were expecting, though it was perfectly agreeable. Your blush deepened.

“Very well, thank you.”

He nodded. Then, something almost hesitant passed through his gaze.

“I’ve drawn a bath for you, unless you prefer to rest longer,” he said.

You blinked. “Really?” That was a kindness you did not expect.

Éomer’s lips tugged upwards. He offered you his hand. Though you hesitated, you slipped your free hand into his. Instinctively you took the furs with you to cover yourself, your face warming down to your neck under the weight of his amused stare.

Your hair was a tangled mess along with the sheets remaining tousled on the bed, and you realized that your body was sore in places you had never felt so. He led you around a simple wooden partition to a wide bath that was built into the ground. Your eyes widened at the luxury of it.

You had noticed that Rohan largely valued comfort and efficiency over ornateness in their architecture, but it seemed they lavished some things with greater detail.

Éomer helped you step into the bath. He took the furs from you, still with that amused glint, but he couldn’t stop himself from taking note of your bare, supple form, what glimpse he was able to get before you lowered yourself into the steaming water. He had explored each and every lovely curve the night before, but you were lovelier to behold in the morning, he thought.

You looked up at him with some hesitance, but there was a question there that he thought he would like to answer.

“Have you already bathed?” you asked.

“Yes,” he nodded, “I will leave you to your leisure. Breakfast will be brought up in a little while.”

“Oh. Yes, thank you,” you said.

Was that a note of disappointment in your tone, in the downturn of your face?

Éomer paused, but he did as he set out to do, leaving you to your bath in peace. He went over to his side of the bed to continue dressing himself, slipping a long shirt over his head that he tucked into his breeches. Though he tried not to let them, his thoughts of you remained.

Meanwhile, you relished in the hot water relieving your sore muscles (and other places). You washed and hummed a little tune to yourself, forgetting that you weren’t entirely alone, despite the partition.

By the time you left the bath, dried off and dressed in a heavy robe over a thin dressing gown, your new husband was already munching on bread and fruit and other good things that were brought up from the kitchens. He welcomed you to sit with him by the fire, where two wide chairs were draped with furs to make them comfortable. You joined him, and the tray of goods rested in between your seats.

“Do you have much to do?” you asked, while buttering a slice of bread. The crust was hard and somewhat sour, but the inside was soft and delicious.

“The only business I must attend to today is to remain kept with my wife,” Éomer said. He glanced up at you, once again capturing your gaze. “As tradition dictates.”

By the Valar, was there no end to how you blushed around this man? You only couldn’t tell if being kept by you was a duty he relished in.

You almost didn’t hear him when he added, “Tomorrow we will see your family off. They ride back to Gondor.”

Belatedly, you nodded. Éomer saw the note of melancholy cross your face.

“I am sure it is…a sooner parting than you would like,” he said.

You offered him a rueful smile. “Yes, but…not as difficult a goodbye as I thought it would be.”

One of his brows rose. “Why is that?”

Drawing in a deep breath, you mustered a little courage to answer him honestly.

“I did not know what to expect when I arrived in Rohan, but its lands have beauty of its own. Its people have integrity and courage, and its noble house is noble indeed,” you said. A small, true smile brightened you when you looked at him. “It is honorable, and kind.”

Éomer blinked in surprise. On his face it was still muted, but it was there. Your words touched him. He cleared his throat, for some reason finding his face a bit warm. In his eyes, you continued to be a wonder. He too hadn’t known what to expect from a woman of Gondor. He knew what many in your country thought of the people of Rohan—simple folk at best, and horse-wild barbarians at worst. With you, he’d mostly expected a haughty, spoiled brat.

He’d never been more willing to be proven wrong. In fact, the more he learned about you, the more beautiful you became.

He reached over, almost hesitant to cover your hand with his larger one. He was suddenly very conscious of his rougher palm in contrast with your soft skin.

“Regardless of how we were entered into this arrangement, I stand by my vows,” he said. “I will honor and protect you, and do my utmost to make you comfortable here in my home.” 

You smiled. Your hand turned under his to curl your fingers around his palm.

“I will also honor and protect you in whatever way I am able. And I will do my utmost for your house, for it is now mine as well,” you replied.

Éomer brushed his thumb over the back of your hand. He rose out of his seat enough to lean over, and he kissed you. It was sincere, but all too brief. You leaned towards him after he broke away, left wanting more as your eyes slid open.

Recognizing that look of desire stirred his own, deep in the pit of his stomach. He tugged on your hand meaningfully and guided you out of your chair, over to him. You tentatively sat across his lap, uttering a laugh when you slid backwards and landed against his chest. Your hand flew there to steady yourself. Éomer clasped it against his heart and claimed you in a deeper, rougher kiss, one fueled by a craving he couldn’t name.

You held his bearded face and hummed sweetly into his mouth. You matched his fervor, your fingers slipping into his hair and instinctively tightening a stronghold. He groaned in response. His hands, large and strong, moved over your side and down your back, while the other squeezed the supple flesh of your hip through your thin gown.

Soon, it wasn’t enough. He slid his arms around your waist and under your knees before he stood with you in his arms. He smiled at your squeal of surprise. It was the first real smile you’d ever seen upon his face. It delighted you to be the one who put it there.

He carried you to back his bed. Our bed.

But still, it was only a matter of lust, if twined with mutual respect and…curiosity.

You did not love him. (Yet.)

AN: Love me some blonde, medieval cowboy Karl Urban. 😘💜

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

LOTR/The Hobbit Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Eomer Tag List:

@kmc1989 @eddie-munson-stories @lamaudite

[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!

[ml080504]

JUST GIVE ME A CHANCE PLEASE

[gloomwitchwrites]

Burnt Bread

Éomer x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: fluff, physical & emotional hurt/comfort, family issues, established relationship, alcohol

Word Count: 2.4k

After being left to fend for yourself in your father's bakery, you end up making a massive mistake that earns his ire. Fleeing, you find comfort with the one person who you're utterly safe with.

A/N: Dedicated to @firelightinferno

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

“I’m leaving. Watch the shop.”

You glance up from the sticky dough beneath your hands and find your father near the door. He sways on his feet slightly as he attempts to tug on his coat. “I’m leaving” is just another way of telling you that he’s off to drink, and by the look and smell of him, he’s already started for the day.

It wasn’t always like this, and it’s only become worse over the years. Following your mother’s death, your father’s reliance on mead has become a crutch, a vessel for his loneliness. It doesn’t matter that you are alive and here for him.

While you don’t entirely resent him for falling into this state, the frequency of it does worry you. Worse, it’s driving a wedge in your relationship with him. He’s becoming distant and detached. His frequent disappearances leave you alone to take care of the shop and everything that goes along with it. It’s not difficult, and you enjoy the work, but when the shop is busy, you can’t always keep an eye on things.

You’re starting to grow tired of this, and you don’t want to feel resentful of your father. You’ve always loved him, even on the days when he comes home stumbling.

“For how long?” you ask flatly, trying not to sound upset that he’s departing yet again. This is the fifth day in a row your father has left the shop in the morning to drink. You fail, a little indignation creeping into your tone.

Your father hears it because he scowls in your direction. “Don’t know,” he mutters, as he teeters toward the door.

There is no final goodbye or backward glance. The shop door slams shut, and tears begin to form in the lower lids of your eyes. Brushing them away with the back of your hand only dusts your cheeks with floor.

This constant distance is tiring.

Putting all your frustration into kneading the dough on the table, a little bit of that steam begins to cool. Once you’ve had enough, and your arms ache, you cut and shape the dough, setting it aside to rise.

The bell above the door rings as the first customer of the day steps inside. And then it begins.

This is why you miss your father in the mornings. Everyone loves seeing your face. They appreciate your kind smile and helpful attitude. Most days, your father is nursing a hangover and keeps to himself, leaving you to take care of everyone that walks in. But without him, you’ll need to do both.

The front of the shop quickly packs with people. You’re so busy taking orders and wrapping bundles of freshly baked bread, that at first you don’t smell the slight hint of char in the air. It’s only when you finish helping a customer that you catch a whiff of it.

The older woman’s nose crinkles in confusion, and while she says nothing, her reaction gives you pause. Inhaling, you consider the scents in the shop, grouping them into different categories. There’s sugar, butter, and—

Your eyes widen, and then you’re rushing to the large stone oven at the back of the shop. “Oh no. No no no no.” Grabbing the large, wood paddle off the wall, you hurriedly scoop up and toss the bread onto the nearby table.

Some are perfectly toasted but others, like the ones closest to the fire, are charcoal. You slide the paddle in and retrieve a loaf that is entirely on fire. In your surprise, the paddle and bread fall to the floor.

They both clatter loudly and you drop to your knees, using your apron to smother the burning bread. The tears fall easily, and the heat from the apron is hot and irritating, but you put it out. You’re so absorbed in trying to salvage what you can, that you don’t realize where the wide part of the paddle is.

Your hand goes out and connects with it. You jump back with a light cry, cradling your palm. The paddle is wood and not metal, which is some comfort, but your left hand is throbbing.

The bell above the door rings, and you glance up, eyes wide and frightened like a deer.

“What is this?” comes the sneering voice.

Your father is back, and you can smell the sourness from here. He half-sways, half-limps around the counter to where you’re kneeling. His pupils are wide, and he has to lean on the countertop for support. That yellow gaze roams over you, to the burnt bread on the floor, and then back to you again.

“You stupid girl,” he whispers. Then, much louder. “You stupid stupid girl!”

This is the part of him you dislike the most. When he’s deep in his cups, all kindness is gone.

“I’m so sorry, father. We were busy and I didn’t realize—”

“Do you know how much you’ve cost us? This is two dozen loaves.” He picks one up and throws it at your face. His aim is terrible and completely off. All you have to do is bend a bit and it sails right over your head.

“Father—”

“Do you do this to me on purpose?”

“Father. Please—”

“Every day I have to look upon your face and see your mother. A daily reminder that she is gone!”

“Please,” you beg softly, staring down at your hands.

“Get out!”

You bolt up and rush out the door, nearly knocking over an elderly woman about to walk inside. You run and run until you pass through the gates of Edoras, stopping only when you make it to the burial mounds of the kings. You fall to your knees and then onto your back, staring up into the sky.

It’s morning, but overcast, the clouds a stormy gray like they’re ready to cry and join you in your sorrow.

There is only one person who could give you comfort, but he is not here. He is gone, expected back today but you’re not sure when. Even if you were to wait for him, you’re in no state to greet him. Éomer should see you happy when he returns, not tear-stained.

No one holds vigil at the burial mounds. This will be your respite. This will be your chance to slow your racing heart and dry your eyes. Once you’re calm, once you’re no longer wishing to flee from this place, you’ll hold vigil at the gates until Éomer arrives. Going back to the shop to face your father is out of the question.

The grass is a soft bed beneath you. Closing your eyes, you press your hands against the earth, splaying your fingers wide, focusing on the individual blades of grass under your palms. This will be your anchor until you can find a bit of peace.

“What are you doing on the ground?”

Your eyes snap open and you turn your head to the right, meeting the amused smile of the man you love.

“Éomer,” you breathe, sitting up to grab at the front of his leather armor. It doesn’t matter that your hands sting, you pull him down onto you wanting his closeness.

His gentle laugh is perfect, and when your mouths meet, everything slips away. Éomer settles between your legs, his forearm resting by your head while his other hand reaches back to grab. He meets bare thigh, and the contact is exactly what you need.

Éomer is real and whole and with you.

The kisses that start with soft excitement quickly become deep and heated. There is a slight harsh bite to his breathing as the two of you presses closer. Your hands slide up to wrap around the back of his neck, but as they crest over the lip of his armor, the tender flesh on your palm screams out.

Hissing, you draw back, clutching at your hand.

Éomer stills and then pulls away from your lips. His head tips downward, glimpsing the burn before you can hide it from view.

“What happened?” he asks, his tone tipping toward concern.

“It’s nothing,” you murmur, as the memory of your father comes roaring back.

“It’s not nothing,” he replies firmly, his brow creasing. “Show me.”

Slowly, you unfurl your fingers, revealing your palm. Of everyone in your life, Éomer is the safest.

Éomer’s mouth forms into a deep frown as he clutches your wrist, drawing your hand closer to his face as he inspects the burn. “Did someone do this to you?”

You shake your head. “No. Just grabbed some hot bread. That’s all.”

Éomer sees right through you. “You’ve been crying.”

“It hurts.”

Éomer sighs, gently guiding your hand down to your chest. When he releases your wrist, Éomer reaches out to trace the backs of his knuckles against your cheekbone. “You can tell me if it was your father.”

When the tears start to accumulate in your eyes again, Éomer leans in and lowers his voice. “Did he hurt you?”

You shake your head. “Not with his fists.”

Éomer’s exhalation is shaky, like he’s trying to calm his own anger. “You’re coming with me.”

“Éomer—”

“You are coming with me,” he repeats. “We will talk, and I will tend to these burns.” When you open your mouth to argue, Éomer shakes his head. “Don’t be stubborn.”

He slowly sits back on his heels and helps you come to sitting. Then he’s on his feet, bringing you with him. Éomer;s horse, Firefoot, grazes nearby.

Éomer’s hands lightly brush away the blades of grass that cling to your skirts. “Would you like to walk or ride back?”

You love Firefoot dearly, but you’d rather take your time arriving to Edoras’ gates. You’re still not calm, and a slow walk with Éomer at your side might just help you find some peace.

“Could we walk?”

He nods. “If that is what you wish.”

Éomer leads Firefoot by the bridle with one hand, and with the other, he clasps yours. He does not push or dig around, but instead moves at the pace you set. Éomer knows your signals without you having to say anything. Instead of inquiring about your father or what happened, he talks about his time away. It gives you a chance to shift mindsets, to focus on him and nothing else.

When the two of you are in his private room, Éomer guides you over to the hearth. He lays out a small nest of furs and gently helps you down on them, taking care not to accidentally brush against the burn. Once you’re seated, Éomer moves to a far corner of the room to remove his weapons and a few heavy pieces of armor. Then he comes back to you, sitting beside you in front of the fire.

“Show me your hands.” Reluctantly, you present them. Éomer frowns down at them. “Tell me again your father didn’t do this to you.”

“He didn’t. I promise.”

Éomer sighs heavily and his hands wrap around your wrists. He gently guides your hands closer, inspecting the burn. It’s only on your left hand, and Éomer slowly releases the one that’s fine. “I’ll have someone fetch some ointment for this and bandages.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“It is. I’ll take care of it.”

You snort and Éomer’s mouth quirks up into a smile. “Think I’m incapable?”

“A strong warrior like you capable of such tenderness?” you tease.

His smile softens. “What about all the times I’ve been tender with you?”

Your cheeks heat with the memory. “Not in that way,” you mutter, trying to hide your embarrassment.

“Would you prefer that as well?”

“Perhaps later,” you breathe, heart quickening in your chest.

Éomer lifts your wrist to his mouth, placing a kiss on the pulse point. “I’ll return shortly.”

When Éomer acquires the correct ointment and bandages, he sets to work. He cleanses his hands, scrubbing his nails and between his fingers before he begins. Then, with purposeful slowness, Éomer lifts the injured hand and begins rubbing the ointment into the surface-level burns. They likely won’t blister but they’ll sting for a week or more.

Once the ointment is applied, he unwraps the bandages, guiding it over and around your hand to keep the ointment in place. He ties off the extra and cuts it off with a clean blade, tucking the little bit left into the wrappings. Éomer is overly cautious but it’s sweet.

He is always so gentle with you.

“You spoil me,” you murmur.

“I enjoy it,” he replies, turning your hand over to double-check his work.

A soft sadness creeps in. “One day you won’t.”

Éomer glances up. “How so?”

You shrug as if the words don’t mean anything. “You’ll marry a princess. She’ll beautiful and fair. The people will love her.”

Éomer shakes his head. “Why would I ever want such a thing when I have one right here.”

“Don’t tease.”

“I’m not.” Éomer kisses your fingers and gently guides your hand to your lap. In a move so delicate it momentarily steals your breath, Éomer cups your cheek and leans in close. “All I ever want. All I ever need. Is right here.”

Éomer stands before the back door of the shop your father owns. He’s still fuming, but not nearly as much as when he saw your hand. For some time, Éomer has wanted to give this man a piece of his mind. You are precious, and more importantly, you don’t deserve his ire.

The man is a drunk, and everyone knows it. Most show him pity because it all started with the death of his wife—your mother. But that was many years ago, and any pity Éomer felt for the man has long since evaporated.

Squaring his shoulders, Éomer pounds on the door like he’s trying to splinter the wood.

You are still in Éomer’s chambers, curled up in the pile of furs he created in front of the fire. You are sacred to him, the woman he wants above all things. One day, you will be his, and will no longer have to answer to your father.

The drunkard swings open the door. “What?” he growls before he realizes who stands before him.

His eyes widen, and he straightens up, smoothing out the rumbled apron. He fumbles over his words and Éomer holds up a single hand, silencing the man.

“I’m not interested in excuses.” Éomer takes a step into the shop, towering over the man. “If I ever see her in tears again because of you, understand that my next visit will be much less pleasant. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly.”

Éomer wants to stay more, but he draws back his rage. He nods curtly, and exits, only wanting to return to you.

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @firelightinferno @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado

[lsd-astronaut]

OKAY, finally got around to making a list of my current requests which I will start working on as soon as I can actually breathe lol (uni is gonna be the end of me) I also have two oneshots I'm currently writing for myself but yeah if this inspires you to ask me for anything please do, I need a backlog so I don't run out of requests lol

[celestialhole]

Éomer is perfect enemies to lovers material. Prove me wrong.

[secondratefiction]

So happy you write for LOTR fandom as well! Could you please write some h/cs for Eomer? What's he like when in love? What does he find attractive in his s/o? What kind of qualities does he appreciate? Anything, really. Thank you so much!

Happy to oblige my love! I am nothing if not a multi-faceted nerd lol

Eomer is not someone I've written for before, so I do ask for a little leeway as I feel out how I write for his character.

Also, on a semi-related side bar - why are there so many good men in this series? I'm calling it: Tolkien is the reason I have unrealistic expectations in men... ugh...

--

Eomer strikes me as someone who can be a bit of a flirt. And who enjoys it /immensely/. So he would definitely appreciate someone who can match his energy and play long with the flirting and teasing

But only with him. He's not outwardly possessive, but can definitely be a jealous bitch.

You want to play games, you play with him. Anybody else, and this isn't fun any more all of a sudden, and he's glaring daggers at anyone showing any interest in you.

He's lost pretty much his entire family, so he's pretty cautious about opening his heart up again... but once he does... oof- he's got it /BAD/.

Like you have this man's entire being, heart, soul, and everything, directly in the palm of your hand, and he is fully trusting you to be gentle and take care with it.

[gulnarsultan]

Another ask. Hope you are well lovely.I just saw your requests are open. Dark Eomer from LOTR please 😍I hope it’s something that inspires you ❤️

Hello darling. I hope you like it.

Dark Eomer Eadig headcanons.

~ This man will fascinate you, whether with his appearance or his personality. Moreover, it is difficult for you to be aware of his obsession. Frankly, when this man looks sweetly at you, you will feel guilty for thinking like that about him (he is obsessed).

~ Eomer is loyal, optimistic, humorous, and carefree. However, he is also hard and cold when necessary. And believe me, his hatred is truly terrifying.

~ He is very skilled at riding horses and using swords and javelins.

~ He doesn't hesitate to use all his talents to get you, protect you and make you happy.

~ In a way, once you accept his love, he's not such a yandere. He only gets angry when he is jealous and wants to fight.

[zepskies]

LOTR/THE HOBBIT MASTERLIST

(❤️‍🔥 = 18+ only and/or smut)

Aragorn

One-Shots:

One Promise After the battle at Helm’s Deep, you find it difficult to enjoy the victory feast. Aragorn notices your melancholy and tries to comfort you.

Eomer

One-Shots:

As Tradition Dictates ❤️‍🔥 Your marriage to the Third Marshal of the Mark has been arranged in the hopes of renewing political ties between Rohan and Gondor. The morning after the ceremony, your new husband continues to defy your expectations.

Thranduil

One-Shots:

Coming eventually...

Haldir

One-Shots:

Coming eventually...

Main Masterlist

✦ Want more LOTR?

⋆˙⟡ Get notified when every new story drops! Follow my fic library blog - @zepskieswrites - with notifications on. 💜

Join My Patreon ⟡ Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories. Top-tier patrons can send me requests!

[essenceofarda]

OF BLESSED THYME & THISTLE | Chapter 1 | Page 6

Masterlist of Pages

Faramir’s cousin, Lothiriel, comes to Minas Tirith to become a companion of his new bride, Eowyn, something that he hopes will ease Eowyn’s rough transition into Gondorian Society. Eowyn, for her part, decides her new companion would in turn make the perfect bride for her brother, Eomer King of Rohan. Matchmaking shenanigans ensue 😏

Finished the next page!! Faramir's aunt (one of Denethor's sisters) certainly is a force to be reckoned with 😳 I wasn't kidding when I said Eowyn almost would rather face the witch king again rather than have to continue dealing with these women... It'll be explained later on why she puts up with it all don't worry

[gloomwitchwrites]

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

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

A Sudden Spark

Éomer x Female Reader

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

Word Count: 1.4k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

The Great Shadow is fading.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dancing?”

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

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

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

“And you are not partaking,” he comments.

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

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

By the Gods, he should have realized sooner.

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

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

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

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

Perhaps forgetting for a bit is a good thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is power within you along with the soft.

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

She’d be a fierce queen.

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

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

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

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

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

taglist:

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

[tvertimot]

Éomer x OC - Deep down chapter 10

The young king of Rohan is still trying to get used to his new life after the Great War and is just learning how to rule a country. Following his council’s advice he decided to marry a young noble born Lady that seems to be a perfect match for him and a great Queen material. A coldly calculated political move. But what if his decision had some hidden, egoistic motives to it? And what if the lady already gave her heart away to someone who is far away? Let’s find out together. Let’s dive deep down inside both of their minds.

Chapter 9 | Masterlist

Éomer was saved from having to confront both his sister and himself by endless clothes fittings and other wedding related trivialities. Ever since the interrupted conversation with his sister he felt a weird uneasiness that he could not name. He tried to ignore it but he felt his body getting restless and tense. 

He most definitely noticed that with every passing hour he got more and more irritated. Everybody seemed to be having a long list of carefully prepared questions in a way that would annoy him the most. Wasn’t it all supposed to be organised by the assigned council? Why were they bothering him with all this nonsense? He had more important things on his mind! 

But even the things that laid well within his competencies were irritating him much. Everyone seemed so unprepared. He couldn’t tell if he was more embarrassed by the level of chaos the local court presented or ashamed of how disorganized his own people seemed to be.

His irritation OF COURSE had nothing to do with how nervous he was getting as today he was to finally meet again with Lady Nartíhl. He was not nervous. Not at all! And anyone who would dare to suggest such a thing… well they would be punished somehow, Éomer would find a way to get such thoughts out of their head. 

Why was he even thinking about this? What was he thinking about? Well, he definitely was not thinking about the mining development plan that was presented to him. Yet again he drifted away during a meeting.  - Do I bore you, your highness? - asked the man who was trying to explain the local mining system to his future king.

- No, of course not, this is fascinating. - Éomer ran his hand through his face and sighed. He tried to sound convincing but it turned out rather sarcastic.

The other man seemed pretty abashed and as the atmosphere was getting more and more tense, lord Dúngar decided to step in and save the day, by saying: - Maybe we shall postpone the session, what do you say, my king? We will gladly listen to the rest of your work later. - he gave a half smile and nodded to the man standing in front of them 

- Yes, maybe we should.

Éomer stood up promptly not leaving much room and time for any courtesy and stormed out of the room visibly irritated. 

 ***

Éomer went straight to his chamber and started to undress himself. He felt a need to wash himself and change his clothes. Suddenly everything about his look was unsatisfying to him, even his hair. He had no idea why. Surely not because he was about to attend the final marriage contract negotiation in which lady Nartíhl would take part and could see him closely. It definitely had nothing to do with all of this.

His personal servant stormed into the room soon after him, visibly tired and short of his breath after having chased his master through the hallway. - My lord - the young man tired to ask between sharp breaths - why such a hurry?

- I need to change my clothes - replied the King while trying to untie the strings in his shirt.

- Let me help you, my lord - the servant rushed to help the king undo the ties. - No need to rush, we still got some time. I’ve been thinking what you should wear for today’s meeting for the whole day, my lord, so you would impress everybody.

- I am a king and I do not need to impress any one, especially not with my look - Éomer scolded the servant angrily, barely restraining himself from raising his voice. - I am sure our hosts are not this shallow to judge us by our clothing and garments. 

Who are you trying to fool, Éomer? He did not believe these worlds himself. Yet he refused to admit that and let all those feelings sink in.

-Please forgive me, my lord. This is not what I meant.

- I know, I know. Just bring these clothes over. 

So he allowed to be dressed in some fancy clothes and have a fancy hairstyle done. Apparently having your hair pinned up was fashionable for men here. He tried to fight so hard the need to fit in with his looks, he was a king, not a teenager trying to fit in. But deep inside he wanted to impress his fiancee. To make her like him even if it would be at least for his looks. 

***

Éomer sat in a round room with his council on both sides. The room was pretty cosy - a burgundy tapestry on the walls, a lot of books on the shelves on each wall. A warm afternoon sun glimpsing through the window. It could be almost nice but Éomer could feel his face turning more and more red with every passing second. 

Obviously due to the sun and the ridiculous clothes and not because he sure as hell was not stressed to finally meet his Lady. 

He rested his chin on his palm and taped fingers of his other hand on the table while waiting for his host to finally show on the final reading and signing of the marital contract.

He tried to calm his mind, so he started to list all the horses he had in his stable. Then he tried to name all of the infantry military formations he knew. The moment he was just about to start listing all his hounds he heard the doors being open. - Our noble lord Idhoril and lady Nartíhl  - it was announced. 

Éomer and all his men stood up. The young king felt his head spinning, he rested his hand on the table to steady himself but he knew it made him look nonchalant in a bad way. Get yourself together, Éomer, you fool. You're a grown man, a warrior, a KING for Bema’s sake! No matter what you’ll do the deal is practically sealed and she will be your wife, that’s all. Just breathe. 

But the breathing part lasted only as long as lord’s Idhoril council and himself were entering the room. At the very end of the cortege was her. Just as beautiful as he remembered. Yet so different. 

A simple purple dress that brought up her skin tone. Her long wavy hair pinned up on both her temples with dragonfly-shaped red pines. So serious, yet so youthful. But her face was far from a girly lighthearted expression. She looked tired. Her cheeks sunken, her eyes red and swollen. Like she hasnąt slept in a long time. 

But Éomer did not have much chance to contemplate this. Soon after she arrived he felt a subtle yet noticeable scent of flowers and frankincense that made his head spin. 

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. Focus, Éomer. It’s just like on a battlefield, Just shut it all down and focus. You are able to kill, so you are able to listen to your wedding contract being cited.  - Your highness. Please let us welcome you. We are honored to host you and your noble court in this fortress - lord Idhoril nodded his head and looked around the table.  - It is our honour to be here - Éomer heard his own voice as if someone also said these words - Lady Nartíhl. - he finally dared to look her straight in the eyes and smiled gently. 

She looked him shortly in the eyes but shied away and looked down immediately. She grimaced her face in what Éomer assumed was an attempt to smile at him. Starting nice, he thought to himself. - Shall we begin? - Lord Dúngar, standing on Éomer's right, asked. The young king looked around. Everyone was standing awkwardly. What were they waiting for? - Ekhm - lord Dúngar coughed significantly - my king?

Oh! They are waiting for me! - Yes yes, of course. - Éomer sat down and so did the rest. He noticed he was sitting a bit too far away from the table so he tried to push his chair closer but the legs of the chair got stuck on the wooden floor texture and he ended up jumping awkwardly on the chair, causing a very lund thump on the floor and not moving an inch forward. Well, at least Nartíhl looked at him for a moment. 

And so the citing has started. No changes, everything as agreed. 

When the reading was over Idhoril and one of his advisers signed the document. Then Dúngar. Then Nartíhl. At the end the paper was handed over to Éomer. He noticed how pretty and elaborate Nartíhl’s signature was. Just as could be expected from someone of her upbringing. Similar to what he saw on the Gondorian documents. Even though his uncle made sure he trained his letters a lot  when he was a boy (which was a cause of many eager discussions with a raised voice because who had time to train reading and writing if you could just ride your horse and train sword fighting?) he suddenly felt like he barely could write his name down. But he did. He also put his hand down with a fresh ink and smudged Dúngar’s signature a bit and stained his hand with the ink. But it matter not. He was to get married to the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, her lands with all the mines it contained was about to be joined to Rohan and she was about to become his queen. No matter how self conscious he felt he could not help but smirk. His plan worked out.

The contract was signed. 

Yet, no one was leaving the table. Éomer just sat there, staring at the document. Lord Idhoril’s advisor must have seen his hesitation. - Is there anything else, your highness? - Yes.. - Éomer wavered - I was wondering if I could get a chance to speak with our dear Lady privately. 

He could feel the air in the room turn tense. - Of course not alone - he added. What a stupid custom, he thought to himself. In the riddermark no one would care. They were officially engaged, what would he do to her? But he was aware enough of the local customs. They were supposed to be under surveillance.  - Well, what do you think, my dear - lord Idhoril turned to his daughter and asked her. -Of course, my lord. - a shy and shaky voiced answer.  - Good. But first let’s dine. I believe we would all appreciate a little rest now. You shall have some time to talk in the evening. 

Nartíhl springed out of her seat just as if she was waiting for these words. She nodded her head gently and left the room with two of her servants. 

Éomer instinctively stood up and so did everyone else at the table. He traced her down with his eyes trying to fight the amusement growing inside of him. All these months he built up her image as a mighty goddess in his head. But so far she turned out to be a shy young girl. He definitely felt his self-esteem rising. 

- Shall we? Chapter 11

TAGLIST:

@konartiste @emmanuellececchi

I'm sorry to have kept you waiting for so long, I hope you havne't completly forgotten about this story! My life got a bit busy for the last few months but I have some chapters ready and I hope it will turn out worth the waiting! After all, they say the messier the writer's life gets, the better the fanfics, right? ;p

[lsd-astronaut]

I have 20 requests and for every one I answer, I get three more lmfao please be patient for me I (hopefully) get all your requests and I'm also kind of a mood writer so I'll look thru the asks and choose the one I feel more at that moment. That said, I'm not thinking of closing requests, I like doing this and honestly it's a good distraction from university :)

ANYWAYS, I'm extending my character list to Éomer. I still have to warm myself up to the elves so I'm still not writing for Arwen, Elrond, Haldir, etc. but do stay tuned in case that changes!