Out of doubt, out of dark, to the day’s rising
I came singing in the sun, sword unsheathing.
To hope’s end I rode and to heart’s breaking:
Now for wrath, now for ruin and a red nightfall!
Eohmaere / eoh ("war-horse"), mǣre, ("grand, excellent, famous") - an independent Éomer Éadig. Penned by Moon (she/her, 30+)
This portrayal is based on the books. While book-canon takes presedence over any adaptations, I enjoy some of their aspects and will weave them into my portrayal as I see fit, making this mixed canon. Very The Rings of Power friendly.
Other blogs: @tidalhaired @ofsilverandblue
About page - Meme tag
Rules under the cut:
This is a selective blog, I only write threads with mutuals. Everyone is welcome to send me asks, regardless of mutual status.
I love crossovers! Even if I’m unfamiliar with your muse’s fandom, it only makes the interaction more authentic. After all, I’ll know just as much as Éomer does.
The best way to start an interaction with me is by sending me memes! Please don’t reblog memes directly from me, reblog them from the original source instead.
I love plotting! Feel free to drop into my IMs if you want to brainstorm something together.
Dear personal and non-RP blogs: Please don’t reblog my threads. It’s not fair to my writing partners. Thank you!
I'm pretty flexible with timelines. Things can get complicated, but I'm always open to bending the rules and just getting things done without overthinking it.
I'm open to any romantic shipping! The beauty of RP is the unpredictability, you never know what might develop. If you have a ship in mind from the start, just let me know, and we can work out a fun plot together. Éomer is bisexual.
I don’t have any personal triggers, but I make sure to tag common ones like spiders, gore, etc.
The intense curiousity that accelerated Éomer's heartbeat had simply become too much! Anticipation had built up and up like the high towers of Helm. Was there little wonder that Éomer had to take a peek?
At first he had feared that offering Kíli a child's armor would be offensive, but it was of the only size that fit. And Kíli being willing to ride with the symbol of Eorl adorning his chest was a great honour to both Éomer and his eored. Though his men had found it strange to treat a Dwarf as swordbrother, they knew better than to question their stubborn leader, and Éomer was known to display his love in grand gestures.
Kíli was still in the process of getting changed. What caught Éomer's attention as he stuck his head through the tent flap was the ocean of scars covering Kíli's body. They were alike in this regard, as there was little space left on Éomer's body that didn't display a memory of a past battle, spar or even accident. Kíli's most gruesome scar he knew to be on the Dwarf's leg was already covered by chainmail dangerously on the verge of being too snug. Hopefully Kíli wasn't too uncomfortable.
"Why not?" The tent flap shut behind him after Éomer's larger form entered the small, heated space. "You look stunning." Kíli's form was stout and broad, dusted with dark hair. A look quite different from the sons of Eorl, but appealing and interesting. Éomer approached him. "Come, I'll help you with these clasps. Our armor was meant to be put on by another."
“Then a minstrel and loremaster stood up and named all the names of the Lords of the Mark in their order: Eorl the Young; and Brego builder of the Hall; and Aldor brother of Baldor the hapless; and Fréa, and Fréawine, and Goldwine, and Déor, and Gram; and Helm who lay hid in Helm’s Deep when the Mark was overrun; and so ended the nine mounds of the west-side, for in that time the line was broken, and after came the mounds of the east-side: Fréalaf, Helm’s sister-son, and Léofa, and Walda, and Folca, and Folcwine, and Fengel, and Thengel, and Théoden the latest. Then Éowyn bade those that served to fill the cups, and all there assembled rose and drank to the new king, crying: ‘Hail, Éomer, King of the Mark!’”
Vidar's head whipped around as he heard splashing in the water, the stallion immediately pawing the earth and snorting loudly as a warning to the grey. He was no match for a common horse, his build taller, muscles stronger, and mind far sharper than any other hooved beast alive, though he immediately turned his attention back to Sasha as the man put his hand up. "Rohan is still a day away, you should dress so that we may continue our journey."
She worked quickly to dry herself, Vidar guarding her from prying eyes up until she pulled her simple riding skirts and tunic back on. Sasha glanced back over to the stranger, immediately averting her eyes when she saw him mostly bare. "I am clean enough for another day's journey, sir." Sasha set her ears back and focused on pulling her boots on before speaking again.
"That is admirable of you, however my husband would be furious to learn that I was bathing so close to another man." He would not, she knew that well enough, especially if he learned of the exact situation. However, she was banking on the fact that this man would not know that, and gave Vidar a look so he would not spoil it either.
"Perhaps your husband should learn to trust you." Whoever that may be. It would not do well to be displeased for no reason at all, especially when neither of them had bathed next to each other on purpose, but rather just by accident. Jealous men only betrayed the weakness of their relationship.
But as she wished. He was still turned away and Firefoot already carried his clothes over in his muzzle, so that Éomer did not have to go very far. He dressed himself quickly, squeezed the moisture out of his long hair and then carefully glimpsed over his shoulder, checking whether she was clothed too. It turned out she was, and he was relieved that they could finally talk properly, without any fear of impropriety.
"I am not on my way to Rohan," he clarified and stroked Firefoot's muzzle, now damp from the river water. "I journey to Rivendell." He had never been there before and he sought counsel from the famed lord Elrond, who was known to possess wisdom unmatched.
Boromir Week, Day 5: The People's Prince, the Fellowship
"I will not go," said Boromir, "not unless the vote of the whole company is against me. What do Legolas and the little folk say? The Ring-bearer's voice surely should be heard?"
"I do not wish to go to Moria," said Legolas.
-The Fellowship of the Ring
When I center Boromir in narratives, I often cast Legolas as the comic relief, but actually, I've always thought of him in much the same way as Boromir: the son of a lesser ruler who has spent his entire adult life fighting the supernatural threat to his home, aided by no magic, largely unremarkable except in his bravery, skill, and dedication to his people. Another people's prince. Until Elladan and Elrohir decide to show up later in the series, Legolas is the only Elf who sees fit to put his life aside to help the Fellowship. I've always liked him for that, and I think amid all Boromir's weirdling companions in the Fellowship, he would clock Legolas as a kindred spirit---someone who knows strategy, someone who knows how to rely on his own wits and strength rather than mystical solutions. It's the combined masterminding of Boromir and Legolas who get the Fellowship off Caradhras, and in Moria I think they'd see themselves in similar roles. Gandalf seems to be at a loss. Aragorn hasn't had to step up yet. Gimli's expectations of the reception in the mines was wildly different to the grim reality. So I think Boromir would assume that if anybody was going to get them out of the mess they're in, it's him and the guy who can run over the snow, even if he does pass entire nights staring straight at the moon like a little freak.
But mostly, I think Boromir's time amid the Fellowship is mostly just
Éomer really is the perfect mixture of brave, strong warrior and deeply emotional, creative poet.
His creativity in general is also seen in his tactical choices, like when he guerilla-fights the large group of Orcs that were kidnapping Merry and Pippin, by closing in on them at night and trapping them within this circle of destruction that got narrower and narrower, as the Orcs couldn't make it out without getting killed by a Rider on horseback. Added to that was psychological warfare, because he and his men had lit torches that signalled the size of the ring and how it shrank and shrank and the non-Uruk Orcs knew the sun would be up soon and they are trapped.
Éomer did this with around fifteen riders only if I remember this correctly, and he only lost about two of them.
And! This is the very interesting part where Orcs mention that the Eorlingas see better in the dark than most humans. ("These Whiteskins have better night-eyes than most Men")
“i fear a sword may not be enough in the conflict to come.”
"Yet it might be the only thing we have to offer." The Sons of Eorl were no band of savages that desired battle at any cost. They did have this reputation, as Éomer heard themselves described as such by outsiders, but it was not the truth. Some of his men were more aggressive than others, but such could be said for any group of people.
No, diplomacy was an instrument much like a good weapon or a lyre, and one needed to know how to play it if one wished to be counted among the good and glorious leaders. Only a good leader does not lead his men into certain death without having exhausted all other options first. Even when dealing with the Dunlendings. Though relations had improved, groups of them still carried a deep hatred for the Eorlingas within their hearts.
"I have offered to trade words. My offer was rejected, my emissary almost killed." The mere mention of this made him grimmace. Lodaer could have lost his life simply fulfilling his duty before any battle had even begun. "Cowardly curs. A sword is all they deserve now."
"My muse gently wipes away a tear from your muse’s cheek, their touch tender and careful."
@nolohini -aredhel
It was easy to forget that Írissë was in fact not an unfeeling piece of art, due to her beauty. Were she locked up and subdued, unable to express her emotions, it would only diminish her. Éomer loved how her face lit up when she laughed, or the frown on her brow when she was suspicious. He loved how her nose scrunched cutely or when she rolled her sapphire eyes in annoyance.
Though he did not love when she cried, he could not help but to be astonished at how fair she was even in sadness. If before meeting her, anyone had told him the tears of an elven maiden were not salty but sweet and could heal all sickness, he would have believed it.
Experience thaught him otherwise. Írissë's tears were as salty as his own. He knew so from countless teary kisses, that covered both their lips with both their tears. By now they had lived through both happy and sad days, and while they felt grand and important to Éomer, they might be akin to the blink of an eye to her.
Now her tears flowed freely, after Éomer had finally woken from a long slumber of recovery. The first sight that greeted him were her damp eyes framed by dark lashes, resembling two deep blue oceans. He found his throat too parched to speak, so he wordlessly reached up and gently wiped her tears away with his thumb.
I unfortunately never watched Xena, but now I've seen a tiktok video that compares the cast from back then to now, and it made me realise just how many roles Karl Urban played xD He played four different characters.
But thereupon Éomer rode up in haste, and with him came the knights of the household that still lived and had now mastered their horses. They looked in wonder at the carcase of the fell beast that lay there; and their steeds would not go near. But Éomer leaped from the saddle, and grief and dismay fell upon him as he came to the king’s side and stood there in silence.
Since Éomer always has food and snacks for Firefoot with him, he's able to offer food in the strangest of situations. For example, imagine you're having a mental breakdown and Éomer comes over and is all "There there, may I offer you a nice carrot in this trying time?" and he just pulls one out of his bag.
