#the horn of gondor

[theworldsoftolkein]

The Death of Boromir - by Gellihana-art

[katjaschmitt]

"Suddenly Boromir’s breath caught, reminding him of his aching chest. Relief, pride, affection overwhelmed him. They had won! Pippin lay sleeping curled about Boromir’s horn, his chin resting on its rim, its curved end about his waist, and his arm tucked over it." ['Rapid Peril' by Carolyn Golledge. 2008]

[severussnapedamagedlove]

Eomer X OC Fluff Scene

This is an excerpt from a fic I’ve been working on...

Eomer was bent over a table. A map stretched across its length. There were lands he had memorized listed, where his memory filled in the gaps with ridges and dips, valleys and streams too little to be noted on the map’s face. Grimbol pointed to a section where a grouping of farms laid on the outskirts of The East Fold.

His eyes squinted at the map in search of something.

           “I have news of the Hlud if I could just find it…” The old voice said.

The king reached and pointed to the spot where the Hlud lived. “Here, Grim.”

           “Ah, yes. The Hlud reports of - .”

There was sound in the Golden Hall that echoed through the barren aisles. It was cleared of the day. Post celebration come down was still underway since the grand royal party a few days prior.

Even Eomer was dressed down in tunic and leggings, devoid of finery.

He gave little consequence to the noise, as he expected it was Heferth back with reports of how much the celebration had cost the coffers. However, he shot another look quickly when he realized it was Lady Eira in a simple loose dress he recognized from one of Rohan’s wardrobes. It was especially remembered by Eomer. It was one of his mothers.

           “Lady Eira,” he said with stern surprise. “You should be resting.”

           “I have done naught but rest, your grace.”

Her gait was stilted. Her face winced with each motion.

Eomer stepped away from his advisor at the high seat and approached the wandering woman with no business attempting to walk after an injury like the one she had suffered.

The memory of her warm blood between his fingers still filled his mind, never to leave.

           “Are you in search of something, my lady?”

She shook her head. The muscles of her neck tightened. Her hand reached forward and grasped to the edge of a nearby table, wobbling ever so slight. “Just a stroll.”

His heart sped as he neared. The thick cling of her sweat struck his nose. She exude too much to be healed. His brow fell.

           “I don’t need tending to, so don’t even ask,” she snapped.

When her eyes finally met his, there was a cruel twist in their bodies. The pallid color of her face stabbed him further through.

Theodred’s face. It was back at the river, pulling his beloved cousin from the blood stained waters, seeing that same lifeless tone to his body. That tangy swell in his mouth brought him back to that haunted moment in time where chaos surged throughout him and stayed for many long months.

Eomer blinked away from the memory. “I am not asking. I am telling.” He tilted his head with a warning look. “Please, retire.”

Her jaw clicked in place.

           “I will escort you back to your chambers.” His arm rounded behind her back to direct her back the way she’d came to prevent any falls to the floor.

The lady stiffened her grip on the table. “No thank you. Your grace.”

Eomer shook his head. There was no option in his mind that would allow her to walk around his palace so gravely injured without care. The risk to her body was too great. He’d be on constant edge.

His hands practically shook in fear. “I will not permit you to continue in this state.”

           “I am not yours to worry about.”

That stung his heart. He blinked back his surprise, recovering quickly.

           “I swore your safety to your friends before they departed,” he stated evenly. “My sister would have my head if I let you injure yourself further. Just stop being so self-righteous and let yourself be cared for.”

The fact that she refused his help festered deeper and deeper as time passed.

When her knees buckled, he reached out for her on instinct. His heart beating fast as she fell right into his arms. The fragile trembling of her body from so little movement settled his resolve. She was far too ill to be upright.

He cradled her against his chest as he lifted her up.

           “Eomer,” she slipped, forgoing his title. “Put me down. I can walk on my own.”

The servants of the palace parted from his way as he marched through his palace halls. It was a worn path of memory back to his sister’s old rooms. All the while, Eira resisted. Her body was too weak to fight. The tongue within her mouth, however, was another story.

           “Put me down. I am not some damsel. My legs are capable of walking. This is so unbecoming a king, you know. Th-they do not permit such actions by royals.”

           “I was not born to be a king,” he said evenly. Her weight was nothing to his strength. “And I was not raised to let a lady suffer so.”

They made it to the door. It, the last obstacle in his path.

           “Oh,” she said. The journey over, there was no point in fighting his hold. “I can get that.”

The bed was the only place he would place her.

His leg raised and kicked against the wood. The door flew open at the force and clattered against the wall behind.

           “Hot water. Cloths. Oils,” he shouted.

Eira’s body relaxed in his arms. He felt her settle further, easier to hold to his body. A subtle excitement filled his veins.

           “Have you eaten?” He asked her quietly.

           “A little,” she admitted.

He turned his head around at the servants he knew lingered near. “And a meal. Bring it all to Lady Eira’s room immediately.” The door was kicked back closed behind him.

           “You should stop calling me Lady Eira,” she murmured.

Her hands clasped behind his neck as he lowered her to the fluffy top of her bed. He released her only when he believed her settled in its hold.

           “It gives them the wrong idea. Moreso with me staying in this room. I should be in the servants quarters or in a house out in the city. Not here.”

           “Your wellbeing has been trusted to me,” he explained as he pulled the chair from the desk over to her bedside. “And I take care of those in my stead.”

Eira raised herself against the headboard of her bed. Her face turned lazy, less stiff. “I am not a lady, your grace.”

           “You are to me.”

He swore at the slightest coloring to her cheeks. The way her lips lifted from a thin line to the start of a smile had him in raptures. It was impossible to look away from her beautiful blue eyes and devious tongue that toyed with him – he was sure that she did – at every given opportunity.

A small knock was at the door. She raised herself, as if to get up to answer.

He put his hand to his chest. “Please,” he said gently. “Stay. Allow me.”

The doorway spilled a mess of servants all bearing gifts of food and drink and bandage and a steaming bowl of water. There was a stack of small cut cloths placed alongside the bowl. A hearty stuffed tray with roasted wild game and vegetables of the land with small dishes of spiced apples and small foraged berries. It was placed at her side on the bedspread.

Eomer nodded his head as the servants bowed in their leave. He made sure to close the door behind them.

He began to roll the long sleeves of his tunic. The rolling white cloud off the water had him wince ever so slight as his hands split the surface. He pulled a cloth into the waters, allowing it to swell with the heat before he wringed it free and brought it over to the side of the bed.

Lady Eira watched his motion through lazy eyes. Her head rested against the board for support. He saw the drain. What little she had done was too much.

She placed her wrist in his outstretched hand. He ran the cloth along the exposed flesh of her forearm and hand, taking care to be gentle against her skin. It was so slender in his hold. There were seldom things so small and dainty in the Riddermark.

           “You are not what I expected,” she revealed after a time of watching him rinse her skin of the dense sweat throughout her. “Warrior king Eomer. Brave, bold, horse lord of Rohan.” When he said nothing on the matter, she continued. “I’ve heard of your brazen attitude, reckless and brave with stupidity. Your words are daggers, blunter than your spears but none the less piercing.” He kept quiet and allowed her mind to flow than staggered thought. He rather liked the fill of her voice. It chased away the flashbacks that took the heart of him at times. “It is not a learned behavior from Eowyn, I take it.”

That finally brought a small smile to his mouth. “Is that how I am spoken of in the other kingdoms?”

           “It is said with respect,” she answered. “Seldom better spoke of, in terms of men. Aragorn excluded.”

He settled back to the seat at her bedside. The weight of many restless days pulled at him. A course jumpy ride through emotions had him stretched thin ready for rest.

           “My parents died when I was young. My father, cut down by orcs. And not long after, my mother gave up. She seldom had the strength to get out of bed. I would cry and pull her arms and try to drag her out, but I was not strong enough to save her.” He cleared his throat. The words became a struggle to get out. “The only people left in the world were my sister, my cousin and my uncle. All of whom have gone on in these years. By one leave or another.”

Eira looked at him with a strange expression. He did not understand it.

           “I hated that feeling.” Her voice was small as she picked at pieces of her dress.

           “What feeling,” he asked.

           “Being left behind…I hated being left in Rivendell. My father would go and protect the border. Not a place for children, he’d say. He’d want me to tend to my studies and practice with my bow, but.” Her eyes swam in gentle waters. “All I ever wanted was to be with him.”

It was in that moment that Eomer was struck off his guard. He never said the words aloud, as they were too fragile for his tone, but he often felt that same desolate feeling of being left behind. It was first at the death of his father, then watching his mother live on in hell until she was granted enough peace to be freed. Eowyn lived fierce and wild. He had no choice but to keep up or else lose her, too.

There were so few in the world who knew how devastating it was to be the only one remaining.

Eira was a kindred soul. He felt it inside himself the more time passed. She was a piece that he recalled missing. Apart that he did not want to do without any longer.

[luckys-last-brain-cell]

Is it a shofar, or is it the Horn of Gondor?

[lesbiansforboromir]

Inspired by the Hunt for Gollum 2 day fiasco (I suppose it wasn't really a fiasco, genuinely happy they came to such a quick resolution, I will give it to them), I noticed a bunch of people said they'd never heard of the Hunt for Gollum fanfilm and was surprised! So here are some more tolkien fan films on youtube that you can watch right now! A friend of mine coalated all of these for our server and we binged them all, which was a really great time and I would heartily recommend.

Obviously, first; The Hunt for Gollum, a 40min shortfilm pretty much entirely about Aragorn, you guessed it, hunting gollum. But there's also a few neat interactions with other characters too and the production is of an extremely good quality for what it is.

Then you have Born of Hope, from the same company as hunt for gollum, this one focuses more on Arathorn and Gilraen's relationship and Aragorn's tumultuous birth. It's very depressing but I also really liked the casting of Arathorn and is worth a watch.

Horn of Gondor is a short 20min fanfilm with a pretty inventive premise, focusing on Borondir's in-universe fabled ride to deliver Steward Cirion's request for an alliance with the ancestral rohirrim to Eorl their king, thereby saving Gondor from defeat. I find it a little lacklustre and it doesnt really measure up to it's concept but the attempt is still admirable and there is some real and clear passion behind it so still worth a watch.

Wings Over Arda is, gonna be honest, my favourite one of the lot. It is an hour long and extremely ambitiously attempts to feature events from Tuor's meeting with Ulmo, to the attack of the Sons of Feanor upon Doriath. It essentially fails to live up to the auspicousness of any of these things, but it is EXTREMELY earnest and the casting for Dior in particular is now just burned into my brain. It feels kind of like it was made in the 1980s too which I just love for a film that came out 2 years ago. It's really fun, give it a go.

One of the Seven is more of a hobbit movie fanfilm, referencing PJ's Thranduil backstory of losing his wife and the hunt for her jewels, but also involving dwarves and elves bickering over unspecified rings. It has the brightest colour pallette of all the films which is a visual relief and all the costumes are really detailed, mainly because I suspect this was made my cosplayers who just had some time on their hands. It's fun and campy and only 25mins so fully digestable, even if it's a little dwarf-ist.

Lastly there's The Peril to the Shire, even though cards on the table I have not watched this one. It is three hours long and was made by a bunch of homeschooled children somewhere, featuring entirely child actors and about Rosie Cotten defending the Shire pre-scouring. From what I've seen, the kids are having a great time doing it, but the audio is also really hard to hear clearly so this is more of a challenge than a suggestion.

[istaricelebelasse]

There is a horn. It is nothing special, made from the tusk of some beast that Aredhel barely even recalls felling.

There had been many such beasts on The Ice after all.

The horn had found its way into her luggage and over so many restless nights watching over little Idril she had made it.

It does not compare to those that The Hunt had used in Aman, bound as it is with scant strips of leather and metalwork repurposed from a necklace that she could not wear on The Ice.

But it is hers. And it is precious, in a strange way.

She does not take it when she leaves her brother’s city. It remains, untouched, in her rooms.

It watches as she slowly fades from a poison bestowed by her husband.

The horn is given to her son, yet he has no use for it. A love of hunting and the great outdoors was not anything she passed on to her only child.

It is gifted to another, to a child borne of his cousin, a more precious gift than perhaps his cousin realises.

(One of the few pieces he has of his mother. A wish and a warning and an apology all at once.)

Somehow it survives the Fall. Somehow it ends up in Sirion.

It does not burn in the destruction. Nor is it taken by the Sons of Feanor as they take their hostages.

It lies, abandoned on the floor, until the King comes (too late) to the aid of the city.

There are too few survivors, but they can ill afford to leave any supplies behind. And besides, Gil-Galad can recall his cousin placing a strange solemn honour upon the hunting horn.

It sits, unused, until the Sons of Earendil are returned to their king, whereupon it, aged and yet bearing a presence is returned to them.

There is little argument over which of them gets that piece of their father when it is time for them to separate. The elder twin takes it, as he took their foster father’s sword. The younger is content with a silver harp and the book of their mother’s herblore.

Elros takes it with him. A symbol of his House, and honour for his heir to bear.

Down it goes, down down down the generations until there is little but a drop of Numenorian blood left in its bearer.

It crosses oceans and continents and Ages of the World, survives battles and sieges and the falls of Great Cities and Great Kings until all that is left is a Steward upon his throne sending a son to find answers for a dream.

Finally, on the shores of a river, overlooked by statues of the Kings of Old, the horn is blown for the last time.

It is blown to summon aid, to draw attention, to allow those it’s bearer would protect the chance to escape.

It takes three arrows to take down the horn’s bearer, and the Falls of Rauros to finally grant the horn rest.

The Horn of Aredhel Maeglin Earendil Elros Numenor Gondor is no more.

[jeeaark]

I make silly reason for team split up So I don't have to draw so many people at the battle

Shadowheart gets an honorary mounted combat feat with Armored Owlbear

Karlach gets a horn-orary mounted combat feat with Strange Ox

Astarion. Has a blast with Ulma

I couldn't think of a silly for the Jaheira and Halsin though. Probably the most professional in these kinds of situations, doing leaderly things with the harpers. Somebody has to be the serious ones around here!

But then there's last-minute-silly-scribble Minsc. I like to think he's helping Nine-Fingers out in the sewers. Putting the fear of Minsc in the hearts of nearby mindflayers. For various reasons.

[danshive]

So I had a pretty good turn.

[hollowslantern]

hiiii so I lightened it a little bit so lmk if you want the un-lightened versions & I also couldnt decide between removing his.... horrrse? / hand / etc so you have options

YAYYYYY THANK YOU

[mtg-cards-hourly]

Horn of Gondor

Artist: Yigit Koroglu TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

[videli-jste-tento-film]

[theworldsoftolkein]

I Would Have Followed you, my Brother, my Captain, my King - Boromir

[floralegia]

Patrick and Faramir for the character opinion meme lol

Patrick

Faramir

Moral of the story: everyone I love goes in The Spinner™️

[borom1r]

in a perhaps entirely unsurprising turn of events I acquired new Boromir objects

anyways hello fellow Boromir enjoyers I feel it’s my sworn duty to inform you the Weta mini epics Boromir is currently on sale for $12. instead of $40

[rohirric-hunter]

I could be mounted. If you want

[nelladlaen]

Starting a collection.