#the battle of the hornburg

[lifeimitatesmeme]

🤘 it's metal af 🤘

[autistook]

March 3rd: The Battle of Helm's Deep begins

Where now are the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing? Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?

[loregoddess]

some general observations as I put together notes for analyzing the Octo1 characters weaknesses from the extra battle update to Octo2. Some minor spoilers for late-game stuff.

weaknesses are definitely mechanics-driven, every character has 3 weaknesses, except Primrose and Ophilia, who each only have 2 weaknesses, which is interesting since they're each the main "support" character for their respective teams, so it's apparently harder to hit and take out the support (and from what I've heard so far about Ophilia's battle kit, she is the one you wanna take out first which is SO funny considering that like, story-wise Ophilia is just the sweetest, even if she doesn't take shit from anyone)

the rest of the travelers being balanced at 3 weaknesses each (and having access to the secret jobs), makes me think the extra battle takes place in Octo1's post-game as well, as they'd be more experienced (less weaknesses) and also work together more cohesively as a team (hence why this extra battle is so hard, ignoring the fact that it's a special post-game bonus superboss-esque fight)

like what we see with the Octo2 characters' weaknesses, every character who uses long-ranged weapons has a weakness to a short-ranged weapon and vice versa. Daggers seem to be treated exclusively as long-ranged weapons, which makes for an even balance of 3 long- (polearms, bows, daggers) and 3 short-ranged (staffs, axes, swords) weapons. The fire-ice, lightning-wind, and light-dark weakness patterns are also consistent.

there's some fancy balancing with the weapon weaknesses again, every weapon is strong against at least 2 characters, with the exception of polearms which are only strong against 1 character (Therion), and daggers which are strong against 3 characters (Ophilia, Cyrus, and Alfyn)

likewise we have some interesting numbers for elemental weaknesses, as each element is strong against at least two characters except lightning and light, which are only strong against one character each

I'm assuming the balance of weaknesses is for battle mechanics balancing purposes, since it fairly equally spreads out the potential weaknesses (and the player is expected to be using secondary jobs and secret jobs at this point, and should theoretically be able to hit any weakness), but it is interesting that polearms, lightning, and light are unpopular choices for weaknesses

for character specific observations:

Ophilia is weak to daggers (ranged counter against her melee staff), and dark (counter to her light), which makes sense overall (her main antagonist was working in the shadows along assassins, so the dagger specifically makes sense as a weakness). Nothing too surprising about her except her lack of weaknesses (despite her kindness, she is incredibly capable and aware).

Cyrus has no elemental weaknesses (makes sense given his general mastery of elements, even if he's not a magic scholar specifically), and instead is weak to swords, daggers, and axes. The daggers make sense as the ranged counter to his melee staff, but swords and axes fill out the rest of the melee-ranged weapons for his weaknesses which is very interesting (and entirely opposite from Osvald's "ranged-weapons only" weakness set). But if we consider the fact that all of Cyrus's story's major beats occur with people close to him betraying him in some way (Therese telling a lie about him, Yvon kidnapping him, etc.), it does make sense that he would have a weakness to weapons a person would need to get close to him to use.

Tressa is weak to staffs to counter her ranged polearm and bow, as well as fire and lightning. The lightning makes sense, given that Tressa's main element is wind, but the fire is interesting. Tressa does live in a coastal village, so this could be the idea of fire being the natural opposite to water, the same way we see how Ochette (who lives on an island) is weak to fire.

Olberic's a fun enigma, because he's weak to axes, ice, and wind. As a warrior (master of arms), I'd expect him to have nothing but elemental weaknesses, similar to Hikari, but we don't see that here. Axes counter Olberic's ranged polearm, and wind is Erhardt's main element in CotC (Olberc also notably has access to lightning skills in CotC to allow the player a way to break an elemental weakness w/ Olberic, and as a tie-in to the fact that Olberic is Brand god of battle thunder's chosen traveler), so the wind weakness makes sense, albeit in a somewhat tragic way. The ice weakness is surprising though, especially given that both the Highlands and Hornburg are mountainous regions (high elevations tend to be chillier), but if I had to hazard a guess I'd say it has something to do with Olberic's burning passion to protect others (ice being the counter to fire).

[It should be noted that, in-game Erhardt is weak to swords, axes, ice, and dark, so Olberic and Erhardt share the axe and ice weaknesses (Erhardt is the "Blazing Blade" so the ice weakness isn't as surprising); swords probably exist as a weakness for mechanical purposes to ensure the player can break him during the forced fight in Olberic's Ch3, although dark is surprising--perhaps it hints at Erhardt's eventual heel-face turn?]

Primrose is weak to swords (to counter her ranged dagger) and light (to counter her dark), which more or less checks out with her narratively as well. Her quest for revenge requires her to live and operate in the shadows, and shining light on it would only show the truth of the violence of her quest. I was under the impression that Simeon stabs Primrose with a dagger at the end of her Ch3, but for all I know it was a sword, and even if it wasn't, some daggers are long enough to be considered short swords.

Alfyn is weak to daggers and bows (ranged counters to his melee axe), and fire (counter to his ice). It was interesting that polearms weren't amongst his weaknesses, given the whole situation with Miguel, but if we assume the extra battles take place in a hypothetical "post-game", maybe Alfyn's lack of weaknesses to polearms is testament to his character growth over the course of his story.

Therion is weak to polearms and bows (ranged counters to his melee sword, although it is interesting to note that this may be the only case when dagger is treated as a potential close-ranged weapon). The fact that he has only weaknesses to ranged weapons is consistent with his characterization--Therion won't let anyone get close enough to hurt him (emotionally) again, so the only way to hurt him is from afar. He's also weak to ice as a counter to his fire affinity, although this makes the fact that his final chapter takes place in a cold and bitter place rather symbolic (he must go into his weakness--the cold, and also trusting Heathcote--to fulfill his quest).

H'aanit is weak to staffs (melee counter to her ranged bow), and more interestingly to wind and dark. Wind makes sense, given that H'aanit's main element is lightning, but the dark is surprising, since unlike Castti (who also had a weakness to dark because of story events), we don't see H'aanit struggle against anything "dark" except Redeye, who she's entirely triumphant against. However it's interesting to note that in CotC, Z'aanta has access to light attacks, and given that he raised H'aanit, it's possible she has an affinity to light despite not having access to it as an elemental attack. Additionally, H'aanit works alongside Eliza closely during the events of her story, and Eliza also has access to light as her main element in CotC, making most of the characters H'aanit works closely with light-aligned.

[In addition to Z'aanta and Eliza, Alaic has a weakness to dark as well, either in connection to his backstory and/or because he too has an affinity for light--potentially. I don't have a good guide to all NPC's weaknesses for either of the games, so I can't go and double-check all of H'aanit's NPC weaknesses, but it is interesting that at least 3 of the major NPCs in her story either share her weakness to dark or are definitely linked with light.]

Again, no specific direction or point I'm trying to make with these notes, just jotting them down for the sake of thinking about game mechanics and characterization ties.

[aspenrockymountainhigh]

🖤™👁

The Battle of the Hornburg took place at the mountain fortress of the Hornburg in the valley of Helm's Deep in Rohan. The Hornburg was a great Gondorian fortress later used by the Rohirrim. It was said among the Rohirrim that no enemy had ever taken the Hornburg by assault and it was considered the strongest fortress in Rohan, stronger than Edoras and Dunharrow.

Saruman's forces used their blasting fire to gain entrance to the keep. At this moment, however, the horn of Helm's Deep was sounded, and after a moment a sortie led by Théoden and Aragorn rode forth, followed by men on foot from the keep, and the defenders of the caves, who made a break-out attempt and were driving the enemy out of the deep.

Both armies then noticed that many trees, Huorns, had moved to block a possible escape route for the Orcs. Then Gandalf, Erkenbrand, and a thousand men on foot from the Westfold arrived and charged. The Dunlendings were so terrified of Gandalf that they could no longer fight. The Orcs lost control and ran into the trees, where the Huorns destroyed them. Thus, Rohan won the battle.

Art by Alan Lee

[miss-mollys-ballet-blog]

Me every time I watch Aragorn get dressed before Helm's Deep.

[elluthingol]

And so at length Éomer and Aragorn met in the midst of the battle, and they leaned on their swords and looked on one another and were glad. ‘Thus we meet again, though all the hosts of Mordor lay between us,’ said Aragorn. ‘Did I not say so at the Hornburg?’ ‘So you spoke,’ said Éomer, ‘but hope oft deceives, and I knew not then that you were a man foresighted. Yet twice blessed is help unlooked for, and never was a meeting of friends more joyful.’ And they clasped hand in hand.

[sotwk]

Taken (Eomer x unnamed OC) - Part 2 of 3

Part 1 / Part 3

Love Confession feat. Eomer Eadig

Valentine 2023 Event by @sotwk

Summary: Eomer is determined to convince the woman he loves of his long-hidden devotion, but the obligations of his new crown and her baseborn origins shake her faith in their future together.

Prompt: "It's hard for me to describe what I feel for you… but just know that it's love nonetheless."

Requested by and Dedicated to: @laneynoir You've probably forgotten about making this Valentine ask, but I remember and write down everything you ask of me! <3 Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 3.9k

Content: Angsty romance, declarations of love, jealousy, mutual pining, class division, shield-maiden, King Eomer, post-RotK, non-canon pairing

Rating: T (Teens and up)

Warnings: Excessive angst? Verbal passion? This is clean but it will do a number on your feels.

To Read on AO3: Link

Tumblr Post for Taken, Part 1: Link

Taken 

Third Age 3019 May 2

Minas Tirith, Gondor

PART TWO

“My lord, are you certain it is safe for you to go without a proper escort?” 

Eomer cast a taut but amused smirk at Haleth, son of Hama, over the horse they had just finished tacking up together. His new squire, one of the youngest fighters to survive the Battle of Hornburg, had been appointed to the post just very recently, and so still had much to learn. 

Eomer dismissed the given counsel that a king needed someone with experience in his direct service, not a novice that required training. He had seen with his own eyes how bravely Hama’s orphaned boy had helped to defend the refugees at the Glittering Caves; in Eomer’s eyes, the child had earned the honor several times over.

“Surely you don’t mean to imply that the King of the Horse-lords is incapable of defending himself on a short ride?”

“No, sire. It is just…” Haleth’s eyes darted about nervously and he lowered his voice. “You ride with a woman. If something were to happen, would you not have to defend yourself and her as well?”

At that, Eomer chuckled. “I commend your gallant instincts lad, but I advise you not to make such an insinuation in the presence of a known shield-maiden. They do not take kindly to having their abilities questioned, and will be quick to set you right.” He patted his squire’s shoulder to show that no offense was taken. “Rest assured that the lady is more than capable of holding her own, and of shielding me from harm if need be.” 

The boy need not know that Eomer would sooner die than put her in that position. He had kept that a secret from her and the rest of his Éored for years, although perhaps a little too successfully and to his own detriment.  

Riding Firefoot into the white-stone square courtyard that connected the galleries of stables, Eomer quickly saw that she was already waiting for him, standing alert beside her own horse. Greywind, a dappled mare that bore no meager resemblance to her equine brother, tossed her head and whickered softly at Firefoot's approach. It was a warmer reception than his master received.

"Good morning, my lord," the shield-maiden acknowledged with a nod as curt as her tone. Royal protocol satisfied, she turned and swung up into the saddle of her own steed. 

Her cold shoulder was to be his comeuppance, then. So be it. Her silent rages were nothing Eomer had not seen, borne, and successfully navigated before. 

But today, this time, would be different. Everything was sure to be different after that kiss, which, after a sleepless night of pondering and self-debating, he would still swear on Bema was no mistake. Clumsy perhaps, but an action he did not regret leaping into. There was no part of Eomer that did not desire to repeat it, over and over. 

First, he must resolve the confusion his recklessness had caused. 

"Follow my lead,” he said, and spurred Firefoot on toward the exit gates. 

His command came from habits formed over years of riding together, and so did her immediate obedience. Her loyalty had always been faultless; loyalty to Rohan, loyalty to him. Whenever he called and whatever he asked for, she gave, just as she came to meet him now, regardless of what had transpired between them last night. 

This new epiphany that her devotion to him might be encouraged not just by duty, but a love to reciprocate his, still felt like too much to hope for. 

They rode side by side down the levels of Minas Tirith, and soon were past the city’s great white walls. At the slightest shift of his master’s weight, Firefoot burst into a full charge down the North-way, rejoicing at the freedom to run across open land once more, an impatience that mirrored Eomer’s own. Next to them, Greywind and rider matched their gait to keep up, and they tore their way for several miles northward into Pelennor. 

Eomer’s body sang at the rush of the wind over his skin, through his hair and his cloak that streamed over Firefoot’s haunches. Too long had he been cooped up within the city walls, tethered to the duties of his new office. It still felt unseemly for him to carry the title of King while his uncle had yet to be properly laid to rest among his forebears, but he was determined to serve in every manner his people required. 

This involved taking guidance from his newly formed council, who seemed to believe that the first order of business was to reaffirm and restrengthen Rohan's alliance with Gondor. In the weeks that followed the great feast at Cormallen, Eomer spent more time with new acquaintances, lords and ladies from the noblest families of Gondor, than with his own men. His Éored, who had been the rock at his side for nearly the whole of the past year, were granted time to rest and convalesce according to their desires, and every one eagerly embraced the offered leave.

That included her, most painfully and noticeably. Each day that passed by filled with council meetings and formal dinners but nearly nothing of her, had dragged Eomer further into despair. When she finally reappeared for the coronation, dressed the way she was…small wonder that he finally lost hold on propriety the moment he touched her. 

In seemingly no time at all, they left it all behind. The high ramparts and looming towers of the grand city turned into a white speck on the mountainside. So far out north into the fields and away from the main road, they had separated themselves from the thousands that had flocked to the city to celebrate the coronation, and retreated into the peace of the vast plains that bore some semblance to their home. 

Eomer eased Firefoot into a relaxed pace and she followed suit. Afterward they were blanketed in silence but for the clink of tack and thud of hooves on the long grass finally regrown in the end of Pelennor’s strifes. 

One sideways glance showed Eomer that she remained resolved to look anywhere but in his direction. No matter. If she refused to look at him, he would gladly stare at her, and take his fill of what he had been deprived of for weeks. 

He had forgotten what a vision she made outside of armor, so long had they lived in battle gear. The gown she wore to the coronation ball had distracted him all evening, but it painted her beauty too foreign. The plain clothes of their people suited her best. On her, the wine-red dress underneath her green Rider’s cloak outstripped any fine silk confection. Her hair, usually held back in tight braids or trapped underneath a war helm, flowed in free waves that tumbled to her waist and made his fingers ache with longing. 

To see her in this manner reminded him of what Rohirrim sacrifice had achieved: the end to a life of constant peril, and in its place, domestic bliss. Eomer knew he would be wholly content to look upon her this way forever. And by Bema, by all the Valar that might hear, he prayed that she would let him. 

Another mile or two passed in the bleak silence before the skies gave him the opening he needed. The faint drizzle that had lazily harried them gradually intensified into a downpour, and the menacing grey clouds above rumbled a fair warning. 

Eomer pointed to a copse of beeches in the distance. “That should suffice for us to wait out the worst of it,” he said, and they directed their horses into the thicket. 

After releasing Firefoot and Greywind to find cover and graze at their leisure, they took their shelter underneath the tree with the most generous canopy. As Eomer watched her gather the cascade of her soaked hair over one shoulder, she happened to raise her eyes in his direction and catch his gaze. Her face remained impassive, but she did not look away again. She knew she could no longer delay what he had requested her company for. 

“May we speak now?”

The tense lines on her brow softened. “My lord,” she said, in a tone that was almost contrite. “I am here to listen to whatever you wish to say.”

“Good,” Eomer said, and needed one more breath to steady himself. “Good...” 

"Long has there been great camaraderie between us as comrades in arms, but in time that deepened into…more meaningful affection.” When she did not flinch at that attestation, he carried on. “After last night, it is clear that we must lay bare the extent of our feelings and finally be open with each other."

Her mouth trembled. “My lord--”

“I love you,” Eomer said. “I recognize no plainer truth than that. I am no bard or scholar, and so it is hard for me to describe what I feel for you...as it would be hard for anyone to explain the glory of the sun or the vastness of the skies. But you must know that it is love, nonetheless."

She remained silent at this, and her clenched jaw told him no response was forthcoming. But he had more. 

“These past years, Rohan’s protection occupied all of my waking thoughts. There was no time to consider ambitions for myself. And what need did I have for that, when the sole object of my desires rode in my company to every battle? But after all our years together, I suppose I began to take for granted that you would always be close by, even while I drowned in fear that one sword stroke could separate us forever."

He edged a step closer to her, driven by the mere suggestion of such unspeakable loss. 

“When you grew distant after Theodred's passing, I awoke to my folly. I wished to blame your withdrawal from me on your grief, but my jealous mind whispered that my long buried suspicions were confirmed, that you had always desired his devotion over mine. I wrestled with the torment from it, until last night, when you gave me reason to hope again.” 

“But..but I did not…y-you had never…” She cut off her own stammering and squared herself determinedly before continuing. “I never found sufficient cause to believe you could care for me so, my lord.” 

“The fault is mine for not being forthright with you from the start. I will do whatever I must to remedy that now.” Suddenly they were face to face on the same side of the tree, for she had not thought to dart away from his advances this time. “I would shout it from the very spire of their great Tower if it will end your doubts.” 

He reached for her, and the edge of his hand found her chin. Contrary to his bold declaration he repeated, barely above a whisper: “I love you.” 

“No,” she murmured back. “Please. You must not say such things.” 

“Why not, when it is the truth?”

“Because it is a truth you cannot act on.”

Eomer’s hand dropped to his side as he barked a humorless laugh. “Granted I have not held the role for very long, but that seems a peculiar thing to tell a King.”

“You are the King now, and that binds you to do things according to your duty, not according to your desire.” She lowered her head. “That is the truth that matters, my lord. Love cannot always prevail over everything.”

The familiar frustration marked with dread clawed at Eomer again. “My love for you will prevail over this,” he vowed. “Moreso because it is love returned.”

Only the sound of splattering rainfall followed, and the realization that she was starting to turn away.

“You… you do love me.”

“I do not.”

The ensuing crack of thunder paled against the shock her reply struck in Eomer. She slipped away from his side once more while he fumbled through his recollections of the previous night.

Drunk as he had been on the taste of her kisses, he could not have misunderstood her impassioned outburst. You are all I ever see, even when I do not wish to!  He had dissected that precious confession over and over in his head and basked in sweeter hope that he had ever dared to feel about anything.

“I will not accept that. I do not believe it!”

In a handful of strides he overtook her as she fled to the edge of the grove, where the trees stood further apart and exposed them to the deluge. 

“What is causing you to deny me? Deny yourself, deny us?!” She attempted to step around him, but Eomer blocked her progress relentlessly. “Is it that misguided belief of yours that I am, in your words, ‘taken’?” 

Finally she succumbed and stood in place, cold and drenched and as stock-still as a soldier holding the line. But Eomer found the answer clear on her grimace. 

"Do you mistake me for some bull that has been put on the market for the highest bidder? Or believe me so feeble that I have no control over my choice of wife?!"

She stiffened at his rising rebuke and shook her head. “Not just a wife, my lord. A Queen. You must choose the right woman to offer to Rohan as our long-awaited Queen.”

“Marry me and it is done.”

Immediately her eyes widened and her face blanched, as his bluntness finally plowed through her shields.  “Oh Eomer,” she breathed, and the return of his name on her lips nearly rendered him as dazed as she was. 

He moved to embrace her, but she clutched him by the forearms, guarding her space. He felt her fingers tremble as they dug into the fabric of his tunic sleeves. He thought he might have heard a sob, but in the rain it was impossible to discern the source of the drops slipping down her cheeks. 

“I know you are wiser than that,” she told him. “You know Rohan’s political realities, regardless of your distaste for them. Your rise to your uncle’s throne has separated us by a chasm that cannot be bridged.” She sensed his intention to interrupt and spoke even louder. “I am an orphaned stray, Eomer. Theodred’s favor may have rescued me from a life of insignificance, but I am still baseborn by anyone's standards. Yet however lowly I am, I can hold my head up with pride, because I have always known my place.”

“As do I.” Eomer slid his hand up the curve of her neck. “Your place is with me.”

“Yes it is.” Her smile was joyless as she gripped his wrist to keep his obvious desires at bay. “I belong at your side, on the open fields, with a sword in my hand, ready to give my life for you at a moment's notice. You gifted me with purpose, and riding in your company has brought me such honor. Please do not ask me to play a role where I will only fail and return to an object of derision.”

Eomer frowned. “I have only ever loved you. No one else is suitable for me to take to wife.”

She lifted those beautiful eyes to stare dead-evenly at him for the first time in months. “Dol Amroth,” she whispered. “The daughter of Prince Imrahil.”

The sadness in her eyes lifted the fog of ignorance that obfuscated him. He recognized that pain as the very same one that had pierced him each time he watched her in Theodred’s company. The way they smiled at each other, their intimate touches, their freely exchanged affection that made his stomach twist with envy. But he had been wrong in his interpretation of that situation, and so was she on this one. 

“What of her?” he said brusquely, pushing aside his full realization of what she was implying. 

“One does not have to sit at the council table to see the soundness of your match.”

“There is no match!”

“Then there will be and there should be!” she insisted. “Everyone sees it, and if you tell me you do not, then you have no right to accuse me of denying what is true.”

A low growl rumbled off Eomer and suddenly he was the one to swivel away, rubbing his face and rain-matted beard while he weighed his answer.

“I do not deny that overtures have been made by advisors, both mine and King Elessar's," he said finally. "Lothiriel does seem an obvious candidate to put forward as a consort for the King of Rohan. But that appropriateness has nothing to do with me. Had Theodred survived to stand in my place, they would be pushing her to him. Have I been counseled on the benefits of an alliance with Imrahil's house? Oh yes--with the subtlety of a hammer's blow. But I barely paid heed to that, since all that mattered to me was your opinion on the subject."

"My opinion," she echoed. She planted her hands on her hips and studied her muddied boots for a long moment. "I can offer you what I know. You, Eomer King, will be the greatest ruler the Mark has ever seen. Your rule deserves every opportunity it can claim, and this offer of an alliance with Dol Amroth is one you cannot dismiss. I have heard nothing but praise and approval at the prospect, from mouths both common and noble."

"Princess Lothiriel is young, and beautiful, and beloved. Her blood is of the most distinguished and most powerful house in Gondor. She will give you exactly what you need. What Rohan needs."

She suddenly came forward to cradle Eomer's face between her hands, a touch he had only experienced in dreams until then. Except this was more akin to his worst nightmare. His inner wretchedness must have become evident in his furrowed brow and was too pitiful to ignore. "Moreover she will adore you, if she has not fallen already, for no maiden has ever lived whose heart you cannot ensnare.”

“Do not flatter me in one breath only to spurn me in the next,” Eomer muttered. “I did not ask for you to wax poetic about my future with another woman. I want your thoughts about all that matters. Us.”

“Us?”

She tried to withdraw her hands, but Eomer caught them in time, and held them firm against his chest, as if it could make her feel how consumed his heart was by her. 

“Once I might have carried hope for us,” she said softly. “Hope that I could one day be enough, because I knew you cared for Rohan above all else and admired my dedication to our people. I thought perhaps in time, that admiration might grow to love, as mine did so quickly after I met you."

“But it did, it--”

Her hands jerked inside his grip, their next attempt at escape futile. “Any hope I had for us died with Theodred,” she said tersely. “When his charge as the King's heir passed on to you. Let it rest with him.”

The roll of receding thunder brought Eomer back to a distinct memory of that dreadful day at Isen. The raw anguish on her face as she looked up at him with Theodred's head on her lap. Her frightened reluctance at releasing the prince for Eomer to take on Firefoot. 

It had rained too when Eomer came to bring her the news of his passing not a day later. Ignoring the heavy downpour, she ran out to meet him as he approached her cottage, and broke down before he could get the words out. He had to lead her back inside and wrap her in a blanket before she caught a chill. She clung tightly to him as he held her for a long while, bewildered by her sobs. It was the only time he had ever seen her weep. 

Only then did it dawn on Eomer: it was not just the loss of Theodred that she had mourned. 

“Run away with me.” 

It burst from his lips without a thought. 

“Wh-What? No!” She yanked away from him with such force he was left grasping for empty air. 

“Come with me, and let us run away together.” He rushed after her as she strode toward their horses. She already knew his mind, but he also knew hers, and there was nothing left for him to employ to sway her to his thinking. Nothing but this brazen proposal. 

“Away to where?!” she cried, without bothering to look his way. She came up to Greywind and seized her saddle pommel, but Eomer’s hand closed around hers, stilling her progress. 

“Anywhere. Far enough to take you away from all this--” Eomer swung out his free arm in a gesture as wild as the fervor in his eyes. “Away from everything that is confusing you.”

She started shaking her head vigorously and backing away. “Eomer, no. You are mad!”

“Do not tell me that!” Eomer lurched forward in pursuit, yet knew better than to grab her. She could not lose him out here where there was nowhere to hide. But he would lose her if she shut him out again by refusing to listen. 

“Do not tell me I am mad when the only madness is you believing we do not deserve a future together!” Each time he blocked her path, she pivoted in another direction, and he immediately swerved to repeat the dance. “Madness is you rejecting a man who yearns for you more than a mortal heart could possibly bear, clinging to the barefaced lie that you do not feel exactly the same.”

At that, she fell still. In the stillness Eomer realized that the rainstorm had finally dissipated, and in studying her face, he noticed the drops that continued to slip from the edges of her closed eyes, gliding to her quivering jaw. 

“You know as well as I that we belong together.” He caught one of the tears with the edge of his thumb, smoothing his finger over her soft, flushed skin. “So let us take the road west and… and just keep riding. Let me take you home. Our people here will follow soon enough, and when they arrive we can meet them as man and wife.”

“Eomer,” she sighed, before falling silent, her eyes still shut. He hoped she would take her time finding ease, so she may really consider his offer. But she responded immediately, too quickly, once again. “We cannot just abandon our obligations.”

“You insist we cannot, but we can. You can do whatever you wish. You just need to decide what that is--"

“No! No, no, no…” The word morphed into whimpers on her lips, an effort to drown him out.

“--and that is all I ask. That you shut out thoughts of all else and answer truly, from your heart." Something in Eomer’s throat tightened, as though an invisible hand had seized his neck and threatened to choke him. He swallowed and persisted with all the courage he could muster. "Will you marry me?"

“No.”

“Please.” It tasted bitter on his tongue, for Eomer son of Eomund had never begged for anything in his life, even as it took the last shreds of pride for him not to fall on his knees in his final bid. “I am asking you for the truth. Your truth alone. Do you want me?”

Her eyes fluttered open, bearing the steely determination and battle strength that had won his respect years ago, and in that moment Eomer saw that that inner fire he loved would now crush him.

“No,” she answered. “I do not.”

To be continued in Part 3...

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[sweetshire]

💛 LOTR GEN FICS REC LIST 💛:

for @genworkjune i’ve put together some of the fics i’ve loved reading (ignore that it’s the last day of the month please). as usual, don’t forget to leave a kudos or a comment if u enjoyed them! oh also, if this formatting seems familiar — that’s because i’ve shamelessly copied it off of @emyn-arnens; i just think it’s neat XD! onward, and enjoy :)

O Wandering Winds by yet_intrepid (G, Faramir & Boromir, 3.5k):

By the time Faramir is told in his sleep of Isildur's Bane, he is already accustomed to seeing with more than his eyes.

The Darkest Lord by rhymer23 (G, Sauron, ~600 words):

Sauron sings us a summary of his nefarious deeds, in an attempt to prove that he is the ultimate Dark Lord of fantasy fiction.

Home Fires Burning by starryeyedknight (G, Hobbits, 5.2k):

The War of the Ring rages on and, in the Shire, the hobbits learn to live without those they love.

Eowyn’s New Toy by @torchwood-99 (Éowyn & Gimli, 1.1k, cw gore):

Gimli, son of Gloin, pays a visit to the White Lady of Rohan, and brings with him a very welcome gift.

Something of Home by @emyn-arnens (G, Faramir & Finduilas, ~800 words):

Faramir never stops bringing his mother flowers.

with every seed you sow, let it wash away, wash away by @afaramir (G, Faramir & Legolas, Éowyn & Faramir & Legolas, 3.9k):

In which an elf and a prince of Gondor speak of grief and death and the sea, and life and song and brothers.

Looking for Dragons by Raksha_The_Demon (G, Gandalf & Belladonna Took & Bungo Baggins, 1.3k):

Gandalf makes a new friend, in an unanticipated and fruitful meeting.

Too Burdened to Fly by @hobbitwrangler (G, Finduilas, 3k):

A look at Finduilas' thoughts during her final moments.

On Gardens and Growing Things by rhymer23 (G, Sam & Aragorn, 2.5k):

En route to Weathertop, Aragorn tries to ease Sam's distrust of him. It doesn't go quite as planned.

Bitter Was Their Parting by @dreamingthroughthenoise (G, Arwen & Elrond, 2.2k):

“You knew,” Arwen said, unable to meet her father’s gaze. “You’ve always known what path I would follow.”

On These Hither Shores by @emyn-arnens (G, Frodo & Boromir, 3.2k):

As the Fellowship travels south, Frodo and Boromir speak of their homes and families and come to understand one another, for a time.

The complexity of bachelorhood by unknownlifeform (G, Gimli & Boromir & the Hobbits, 1.5k):

Gimli explains to the Hobbits and Boromir that marriage is for Dwarves only one of the paths that can be taken.

The Horn of Gondor by @saentorine (T, Boromir, 3.5k):

Five-year-old Boromir receives the horn of Gondor, which goes about exactly how you'd expect.

Greenleaf’s Tree by @sotwk (G, Legolas & Thranduil, 2.8k):

Six-year-old Legolas goes on royal progress with Thranduil for the first time and learns more about the sort of king his father truly is.

The Fathers of Fools by Carlandrea (G, Glóin & Thranduil, 1.3k):

Gloín, on the way home to the Mountain, tells the Elvenking what has happened to his son.

The Adventures of Peregrine Took by bunn (G, Pippin & Sam & Merry, ~450 words):

A Poem by Samwise Gamgee (Mayor) and Merry Brandybuck on the occasion of Peregrine Took, Knight of Gondor, becoming Thain of the Shire.

What Keeps Us Here by @sallysavestheday (G, Celeborn & Thranduil, 1k):

Celeborn and Thranduil after the War. To sail or not to sail.

Different Ways To Light A Path by baby_bat_98 (G, Gimli & Legolas, 5.1k):

Legolas has a hard time in Khazad-dûm. Gimli helps.

For Want of a Ring by @tathrin (G, Gimli & Legolas, 4k):

The aftermath of the Battle of the Hornburg is a time for the survivors to rest and heal, a brief pause in the long march to war. The same is true of the lone Dwarf and Elf who fought there—but the members of the Fellowship of the Ring faced peril long before this bitter night, and some scars sit deeper than any mere bandage might soothe.

The Ring has gone beyond their reach now, with but one casualty from their Company to its name so far; but that does not mean its dark whispers do not linger still within the hearts that heard it.

But what could tempt an Elf of Mirkwood to look upon that terrible Shadow with aught but loathing?

the innermost life of my life by pinkmoon (G, Frodo & Sam, 1.5k):

Sam meets Frodo for the first time.

A Corner of the Hall by Zdenka (G, Aragorn & Bilbo, ~550 words):

Aragorn gives Bilbo the promised help with his song.

a red book pressed into his hands by dirgewithoutmusic (G, Bilbo & Frodo, Sam & Frodo, 2.4k):

Even on the sweet walks of the Shire, things come along that sweep you off your feet—adventures, wizards, children. Bilbo came down, a month after he’d adopted this strange, quiet boy on a whim and a wonder, and found his whole (second) living room scattered with some unholy combination of paint, jam, and mud. Frodo sat in the middle of the mess, with dirty hands and innocence plastered all over his face.

Bilbo leaned on the door because something in that bright grin had taken his balance from him. He went for a mop. He had not felt so at home since thirteen dwarves had tumbled through his round green door. He felt like Frodo had stolen something from him and then given it back better than it had left.

Thievery, perhaps, ran in the family.

[markrosewater]

Out of curiosity, why didn't the Battle of Helm's Deep/the Hornburg and the Battle of Pelennor Fields get, well, Battles printed in any of the Lord of the Rings products?

The Black Gate got a random Gate, so it just seems like a missed opportunity.

The Lord of the Rings was actually designed before March of the Machine as Universes Beyond products have numerous review cycles with the licensor and thus have a longer design schedule. So why didn't it have Battles? Battles didn't exist yet.

[hobbitwrangler]

Dunlending Remains

Prompt: Day 7 of @tolkienocweek

Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of the Hornburg, Gamling, his grandson and an angry Dunlending must reckon with grief and loss.

Character(s): Gamling, Gamling's grandson, original Dunlending character

Rating: T

Word count: 9.7k

She stared at Gamling with a flat, empty expression on her face, waiting to see what he would do. "Greetings," he said. "I am Gamling of the Westfold and you must give me that sword." The girl was unmoved, although he could see the sweat prickling her hairline. "I am Heledd of the Marchag,” she said. Her voice was stiff and hoarse and Gamling saw that the edges of her eyes were red. “This is my father's sword." “It was your father’s sword,” said Gamling. “Until he rose up against us.” It was the wrong choice of words and he knew it. The girl’s lip curled, rage flaring behind her eyes. “We rose up against you,” she said, then repeated it in Rohirric. “We aren’t your subjects, old man. We marched against you - our enemies!” One of the Dunlending prisoners nodded but most shook their heads, glancing warily at the swords and spears that they saw about them. “Yes,” Gamling agreed. “I will grant you that. And we all know what happens to the weapons of the enemy when they have lost.” “I did not fight against you,” said the girl quickly. “Can I not take my father’s sword?”

AO3 link - lovely dividers by @saradika-graphics - tagging @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras because of minor Rohirrim characters!

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

What if Theodred somehow survived the battle at the Fords and was present at Helms Deep and Pelennor Fields? (But maybe died at Pelennor Fields or at the Black Gates, and Éomer still became king?) Do you think it would change the events dramatically? If I remember correctly, losing their prince was quite a blow to Rohan’s morale, and had a huge impact on everyone, and spurred them on to act the way they acted in the story. Just wanted to find out what you think of it 😊 I love your musings about Éomer, Theodred and Rohan in general 😊

As much as it painnnnnns me to say it, if Théodred survived the 1st Battle of the Fords of Isen, I’m not sure there would have been a Battle of Helm’s Deep or the Pelennor Fields or the Morannon. I think Rohan would have been well and truly fucked, and the rest of Middle Earth would have soon followed. 

In Unfinished Tales, we’re told that the sole objective of Saruman’s forces at the 1st Battle of the Fords was to kill Théodred (because, I believe, Saruman saw him as the most formidable opponent in Rohan and needed to get him out of the way). Back to Tolkien’s own words, though, as soon as Isengard managed to kill Théodred in that battle, they let up. Having achieved their immediate objective, they didn’t press their advantage at a time when the Rohirrim were actually really unprepared to withstand anything more. Instead, they retreated, giving the Rohirrim time for several CRITICAL events to happen — to get themselves together enough to mount real resistance at the 2nd Battle; for Gandalf and crew to arrive and heal Théoden; and for Théoden to get off his duff and release the full might of Rohan against Saruman. 

But if Théodred was still standing at the end of the First Battle, Isengard would have kept coming. And kept coming, and kept coming. The full-on invasion of Rohan that didn’t happen until a week later would have started immediately because they would still be in pursuit of Théodred. That means the battle for Rohan would have happened out in the Westfold, not in the very strategically defensible Hornburg, and without further reinforcements from Edoras. Théodred and his men (Erkenbrand, Grimbold, Elfhelm, Dúnhere) would have done what they could, but they would have been overwhelmed. Then nothing could have stopped Saruman’s forces from sweeping through to Edoras while Théoden was still not in his right mind nor prepared to defend anything. Rohan would fall, and then no one would have come to the rescue of Minas Tirith and tragic consequences would just pile up in huge numbers. 

As awful as that is to contemplate, it’s really just a numbers game. As long as Théoden was under Saruman’s sway, Gríma would keep enough soldiers out of the fight to be unable to resist an invasion. Théodred’s death, though tragic, temporarily appeased Isengard long enough for that to change, to the ultimate benefit of everyone. OF COURSE that still doesn’t mean that I’m at all happy about the death of my perfect, sweet baby boy, and things could have worked out differently if Gríma wasn’t such an asshole and Théoden had been a little stronger. But, things being what they were, Théodred’s sacrifice probably ended up saving Rohan…which then saved Gondor and then all of Middle Earth.

Did I just make Théodred the hero of the whole story??? 😮 Kind of! But I stand by it. Thanks for the ask and please feel free to chime in with other thoughts or ideas!

[currymanganese]

Dalinar is such a stress inducing character to ME...Like, I thought I was prepared when I saw little "fave war criminal" jokes about him before starting the series. But nothing could prepare me for the mess that is Dalinar pre-finding a moral compass.......Imagine a man..that is SO Uruk-hai coded..that Howard Shore's 'The Battle of The Hornburg' should be playing whenever he appears on page, like Dalinar please say sike!

[greenvertumna]

Therion: I thought you said this guy was a legend?

Primrose: They call him the Unbending Blade of Hornburg. Many say his skill is unmatched.

Olberic: *slurping down healing grapes every other turn just to cling to life in an intense battle he started against a little old lady*

Primrose: ………

Therion: Maybe this is why Hornburg fell?

[themoonlily]

saunas in Rohan, is that anything?

Rohirrim did originally live much further north, before they settled in Calenardhon, so it bears thinking that saunas could have been a part of surviving the presumably longer and harsher winters of their earlier home region. Maybe saunas could be a specifically Northman thing to do (Laketown and Dale might also have saunas). If so, they might have brought the sauna tradition with them to their new home country.

The famous turf saunas of Edoras. The ongoing debate about the traditional saunas against the smoke saunas of East-Mark, or the more experimental cave saunas at the Hornburg.

The Riders of the Muster of Rohan building a makeshift sauna somewhere near the walls of Minas Tirith after the most debris of battle has been cleared out. Locals come and boggle at it (and the sweaty but happy Rohirrim coming in and out of the sauna).

The incredulity of Gondorians at the face of this tradition - and their astonishment when their revered King Elessar himself is heard praising the virtues of bathing in a sauna after a long windy day on the plains.

Éomer spending at least a year after their marriage persuading Lothíriel to try it, which she eventually does, and is an instant convert. Her adding to the sauna culture by developing the Middle-earth equivalent of spa experience.

Éowyn building a sauna at Emyn Arnen and causing a sensation, but on the other hand, she's the Slayer of the Witch-king and can do whatever she wants.

[katajainen]

Timing, and other matters of inconvenience (1930 words) by katajainen Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf Characters: Gimli (Son of Glóin), Legolas Greenleaf Additional Tags: Hornburg, Post-Battle of the Hornburg|Helm's Deep, Legolas is a wet rat, Bathing/Washing, Awkward Boners, Unexpected escalation, (or at least unexpected to Gimli), Masturbation, Shared Masturbation, LaCE compliant, fantasies, UST, SO MANY bad innuendos send help, (also please stop talking for a hot minute you two), Smubble, Extra-large Smubble, no beta we die like Boromir

Summary:

Gimli simply wishes to prod his friend out of his rain-soaked clothes. But that doesn't mean he won't appreciate the unintended outcome of his efforts.

***

What it says on the tin; written for the Songkran Smubbles event theme 'Wet'.