LOTRWEEK

A week-long event for The Lord of the Rings, 22nd-28th September 2025. Tracking #lotrweek mobile navigation

[lotrweek]

Lotrweek 2025 is now finished! Thank you to everyone who joined in, whether that was by taking part in the prompts or by cheering others on. I've loved seeing all your creativity and enthusiasm!

If you still want to post something for one of the prompts, I'll be checking the #lotrweek tag every now and then for another few weeks.

Otherwise, see you same time next year ✨

[emyn-arnens]

In Memory to Dwell

Prompt: above all shadows rides the sun for @lotrweek

Summary: Merry and Pippin bid their final farewell to the Shire. (Or, on leaving and on meetings that are really partings.)

Rating: G

Word Count: 2.6k

Merry pulled his hat low against the glare of the cresting spring sun and pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. Already his back ached from the low-backed seat of the wagon and the ruts in the road that jostled him against it, and he and Pippin had not yet left the borders of the Shire.

Strider had made many improvements to the roads of the westernmost holdings of his kingdom, but even frequent upkeep could not wholly eliminate wheel ruts and washouts, especially at this time of year, when the rains were fickle and as like to be gone in a matter of minutes as they were to pour for days and leave the roads a sticky, muddy mire. 

As the wagon hit another rut, Merry cast a wishful eye to the baggage pony following the cart.

In truth, he ought to have made this journey sooner, before the letter from Éomer had ever come, and before, he thought wryly, he had gotten quite so old.

He and Pippin had intended to leave earlier, but as the days drew on, they had found that they were less and less eager to leave, for everything seemed dearer and more precious, and every moment cloaked in the knowledge that it might be the last such memory of its kind. Merry had found his feet returning again and again to Estella’s grave without his ordering them to. Whether it was to ask her permission or to remind himself of what he must leave behind, he could not say.

Read the rest on AO3.

[patrick-stewart]

LOTR Week 2025 ⤷ Day 7 (28th Sep): black/white | the night/day | above all shadows rides the sun

[dagordagorath]

LOTRweek 2025 | Day 7 → black/white | above all shadows rides the sun

[oncloudatlas]

@lotrweek ꧂

the night/day | above all shadows rides the sun 

[mithrandirl]

@lotrweek day 7: black/white

[lotrlorien]

LOTRWEEK ✧ DAY 7 ✧ the night/day

[thelordsoftherings]

@lotrweek Day 7: Black/White

[stars-of-ink]

I love you | Rated: T | Category: M/M | 2.9k

LOTR: Aragorn/Faramir | Queer Themes, Reminiscing, First Crushes, Identity Porn

Faramir has always known that his heart does not love in the way that most men's seem to, and has accepted (at least has tried to) that the way it yearns is still right. Is still something he can act on. Or, Aragorn and Faramir talk about queerness and their first crushes.

For @lotrweek day 4. Using the prompts "green" & "dreams and legends spring to life out of the grass"

There are a lot of things about his king that catch Faramir off guard, although almost all are in a positive way. His existence, that the line of kings is unbroken and willing to aid Gondor, is the largest surprise - and the one all people are most thankful for. There are smaller things that are both surprising and pleasant as well. That even as a king Aragorn still misses nature and the freedom a of being a ranger, and often allows Faramir to indulge in getting away from everything with him. That he speaks Sindarin almost as fluently as if it was his mother-tongue, and sometimes will mutter in it if he is too tired.

The fact the rain will make Aragorn's hair curlier as it absorbs more moisture, the curls turning from woodland brown to that same woodland but at midnight. How his writing curls in an elven way sometimes, making even informal notes from him still look official. How he enjoys both poetry and songs, but has always been more partial to the latter - the beauty of being able to tell a story whose emotions can come out not just from words.

The fact that Faramir finds most pleasant is that Aragorn's heart beats in the same way his does. Not that they are both lovers of poetry, or that they would find a betrothed they could spend all night talking too and looking at stars with rather than simply spending a night together. But that their hearts do not love in the same way most books and ballads say they should; that it is not the fairer sex that will make their heart skip a beat or bring a faint blush to their cheeks.

Faramir is unsure how he is so lucky to have a king who understands his heart's desires.

He is even more lost as to how he has become the desire of the king's heart, although he now accepts it. Meets Aragorn within their chambers and stargazes with him, or curls next to his bed at night only leaving in the morning. Loves him back just as fiercely.

To say that they only find appeal in other men is slightly inaccurate, at least in Aragorn's case. They do not often discuss it, save for the subject of heirs or being honest at midnight. Faramir knows that, once, Aragorn had wanted to be with Arwen as a husband should be with a wife - that they could have gotten married with a romantic love in their hearts instead of only a platonic one. His eye can travel more freely as well, and has a far larger collection of poetry to explicitly relate his feelings to.

Aesthetic attraction is as far as Faramir's heart may ever go with women, to admire their hair or how their eyes shine when they laugh. The glow of skin as the sunlight hits them in certain hours of the day. But these observations stir no feelings other than a recognition of beauty, and never have. He is also glad that Éowyn understands, feels the same way, and that they have met each other at the right time. The bond that the two of them share, forged under darkness and the entrapment of the warden, is still one of his dearest by far and one he cherishes. To say there is no love in it would be a lie. There is simply not the kind of love that is traditional.

Aragorn and Faramir's love is not entirely traditional, either. Not least because of who they are, but because the songs and stories never seem to focus on domestic details. That being with someone who would make you laugh, who would waylay you in a shadowed part of the corridor, who would bar you from working the rest of the night with claims of being ignored, are some of the most valued things in relationships. At least they are to Faramir.

Sometimes, as both he and Aragorn stay near their wives and play the correct roles for court, Faramir wonders why he cannot feel how almost all of the world seems to feel. Not even just the kingdoms of men, but of elves and dwarves and hobbits. Even the few who share his interest seem to be able to lift their gazes to other people in a way Faramir cannot.

He tries not to let it affect him, and as such it is rarely mentioned. Although there are occasions. The two of them are lying in their chambers together, not yet tired from the day, when Aragorn speaks.

"If I may," Aragorn's voice is soft as they lie together, although curious, "When did you realise how your heart chooses its loves?"

The question is gentle and Faramir knows he could brush it aside if he needed to, but instead he considers it. "Do you mean to ask who my first love was, or when I realised that I have no interest in women?"

"Either." Aragorn shifts slightly to be able to better look Faramir in the eyes, "Both."

"I... do not think I realised the second by loving a man." Faramir's answer is thoughtful, almost as if he were answering a test of some kind. "I think I realised when I understood what my other peers thought of women. Why they would get excited at the prospect of being able to dance with one, and that once lessons were done they would run off to try and meet them - even if it was only to stare at them from afar. That I could not think of a true reason why they would want to do that helped alert me to something being wrong."

"Not wrong." Aragorn always corrects him when he uses that phrase, and it has helped. Now Faramir mainly uses it because those were the words often used and described, not as a reflection of his feelings to himself.

"Helped alert me that I do not love in the way most people love." His hand finds Aragorn's, holding it. "And reading romance of the princess being saved by some knight or hero of old; that my heart did want that, but what I was reading was not quite right. I did want to be the knight - at least at that time - but I did not have much desire to rescue a maiden for my bride. The fact that such a large genre could both describe some of my desire so well, and yet completely miss something I did not fully understand but knew was a vital part. I think then I realised my heart did not want to fall in love with a woman, even if it wanted to fall in love."

Aragorn gives a hum that is a mixture of acknowledgement and understanding. The hand entangled with Faramir's holds him tighter for a moment, the slight pressure both relaxing and affectionate. "I am glad that your heart does not desire a storybook maiden, for I would find it hard to fill that role. Although I wonder why you had to leave behind being a knight."

"Are you disappointed, your majesty?" Faramir lowers his voice a little, moves closer both to ensure that Aragorn knows he has not take offence and so that there is less space between them. "Do I not serve you well as your steward?"

Playing along for a little while, Aragorn declines to answer in favour of kissing Faramir. At first on the lips before trailing slightly, although only dipping as far as his neck. "I could never be in you. It is merely a shame the king gets ceremonial armour, and you remain in robes."

Mock offence enters his tone, "I thought you liked my robes?"

"You look beautiful, melleth," Aragorn rewards him with another kiss, this one lighter.

"I have ceremonial armour that was commissioned somewhere in these halls, if you feel so deprived." Faramir thinks of the various ceremonies he had attended before becoming steward, when he was a military commander before being in line for lordship. "And I am only a little shorter than you are."

The idea is meant as a jest, although when Aragorn moves slightly back in order to sweep his eyes across Faramir - gaze focused and not seeing in a way that makes Faramir certain he is trying to envision something - Faramir is not entirely sure his lover has interpreted it as such. Letting Aragorn indulge himself for a moment more, Faramir speaks, "What about yourself?"

"In which regard?"

"Either." Faramir gets a smile that grows larger as he continues, "Both. In your heart's way, of course."

"The elves are far more open and less caring of it than men. They can only fall in love once, and they fall in love for eternity; how could it be right to deny such a bond based only on a small thing?" Aragorn says it with both ease and certainty, and Faramir falls a little more in love with him. "As for when I realised, it is the same as you. There was no singular moment, to say. I simply realised that my heart chooses how it pleases, a process that still sometimes seems a mystery to me, and that its desire being a man or woman seems to make little difference to it."

His tone changes into something with more intimate sincerity, "My heart makes it very clear when I am in love. Who I adore."

Both of them lean forward this time, and when they part neither of them draws away. Lying close to Faramir, he can feel Aragorn smiling a little. "I am afraid my first love does not carry the same gravity as how my heart works. Perhaps I should have started with the lighter topic."

Faramir thinks to his own, at least who he is fairly certain is his, and shakes his head. "Mine is not some glorious tale either. I promise not to laugh."

"You may laugh if you wish," Aragorn props himself up on their bed, "Although only a little."

Faramir nods in agreement, sitting partially upwards as well, before relaxing to listen. A little colour comes to Aragorn's cheeks, and he realises that he is seeing Aragorn truly be somewhat embarrassed. "The first man I wanted, although it was never serious enough to call love, was Glorfindel. I must have been around seven"

A small laugh does come from Faramir, although there is no judgment. "What prospect did young Aragorn see in the balrog slayer?"

"That he was a balrog slayer, I'm fairly certain." Aragorn sounds less sheepish now, "I had grown up on stories of warriors from the early ages, and he was one of them. A true hero rewarded by the Valar and clearly good."

A small grin comes onto his face, "Maybe I wanted a knight?"

"Thankfully you seem to be more capable of defending yourself now than at seven." Faramir's deadpan has no malice, and it makes Aragorn laugh, "Have you always wanted to be rescued, my king?"

"Only by a select few," Aragorn smiles. "What about you?"

"I'm afraid mine is quite possibly worse, for at least Glorfindel resided in Rivendell when you were a boy."

"Am I to compete with a hero entirely of storybooks, then?" Aragorn's smile is indulging, and doesn't fade when Faramir lightly flicks him on the wrist in protest.

"He lived, just before my time." Faramir pauses to consider dates, "He may still be alive in fact, although even if he is a ranger I doubt he will have many years left."

Aragorn's eyes flicker briefly to himself, "He could."

"Perhaps." Faramir turns his attention back to the original question, "Lore has always been frustratingly vague on some details of him, although from what is gathered some speculate he could be Dúnedain. Personally, I think he may have been a Corsair, although one who turned from darkness."

"A Corsair?" Aragorn's face tilts slightly into puzzlement, his eyes more focused and curious than Faramir expected. Then they relax again, "All the more fascinating."

Faramir recognises it as approval to continue, although there is still some embarrassment. To have your first love be someone entirely out of a history book, one whom you had never and would never meet. "Thorongil, he was a captain who served under my grandfather."

"Thorongil?" Aragorn repeats it in a queer tone of voice, before suddenly smiling and laughing.

His laughter is warm and rich, entirely unmalicious, and yet Faramir can still feel his cheeks begin to rise with colour. Aragorn notices and immediately stopped, his hand reaching out to Faramir and taking his face gently, "My apologies, my love. It is not laughter at you, only-"

He seems to think for a moment, "I have read a little on him, recently. He seems an odd choice; neither particularly a poet nor very romantic."

"Perhaps I wanted a knight as well." Faramir starts off teasing before being more honest, "I'm not entirely sure why my mind decided to focus on him. I... I wanted my hero to be someone connected to Gondor, I think. Kings of old seemed too far gone and far too lofty a goal, even for a young me. And I could not exactly daydream about the Princes of Dol Amroth nor the Stewards. He was... a more tangible choice. Someone would I could have been worthy of."

"He would be honoured to have you." Aragorn's tone holds only sincerity, although it becomes lighter on his second part of speech, "As would the kings of old. You should not sell yourself so low."

"I hardly think not being worthy of a king is selling myself low."

"And yet you are worthy of a king, are you not?" Aragorn draws him close again, lips pressing to Faramir's once again. "Some days, when you speak to me of what you have done for Gondor, or you catch the sunrays while they filter through the window, I hardly believe I am lucky enough to have you."

"Thank you." The blush on Faramir's face is far more welcome now, and this time he initiates a kiss. "Thank you."

"Always." Aragorn holds him for a moment, before his eyes spark with mischief, "What were your daydreams like, of Thorongil?"

"I was a child," Faramir responds, but Aragorn catches how his eyes shift away for a moment. Presses another kiss on him while still looking from that questioning head tilt. Simply asking.

"It was only that we would sail together, and I would prove myself worthy that way." Faramir finds he can't quite meet Aragorn's eye. "When, when I was older I learnt he and my father would often fight on certain topics- and I..."

"You imagined yourself being with him as a form of rebellion?" Aragorn seems strangely fascinated by the prospect, and his eyes briefly relive something. "I imagine Denethor would not have been happy at the prospect."

"No, he would not." Faramir laughs for a moment, the secret having come out and being harmless after all this time. Then his mind sees the strange gleam in Aragorn's eye and his tone, "You speak as if you know how he would react."

"Me and your father did meet, although it was a long time ago. He did not think greatly of me then." Aragorn's tone changes from reminiscent to playful as he makes eye contact with Faramir again, "I was young during my service in Gondor. I knew I could not take the crown at the time, so I fashioned myself a sellsword in service to Ecthelion."

"You-" Faramir's mind runs for a little while to try and get all of the meanings of what Aragorn has said. To string them all together.

He isn't entirely sure whether it's more appropriate to kiss Aragorn or push him off the bed. Opting to instead simply blink at Aragorn, all his mind can come up with is, "My father certainly would not have been pleased."

The little anxiousness at waiting for Faramir's response disappears entirely in his eyes as Aragorn instead laughs, both men soon laughing together. It goes on for a while, Faramir unable to look at his lover before starting again - and Aragorn unable to resist while Faramir was laughing. Eventually, both of them calm enough to be sincere, and Aragorn speaks, "I am honoured to be your first love, Faramir."

"And my last." Faramir places a delicate kiss on Aragorn, "The idea you could be Thorongil had never crossed my mind."

"I never thought I could make such an impression as to be the subject of daydreams," Aragorn responds, "Is it in poor taste to say I am glad I did not tell you sooner?"

"I am sure I can find it in me to be mad at you later, if you desire it." Faramir simply smiles as his mind goes over their conversation. Then he frowns a little, "'Your daydreams of Thorongil?'"

Aragorn has the decency to look a little guilty at that, before his hand sneaks towards Faramir. "Would you have ever told me otherwise?"

"I-" Faramir still cannot find it in himself to be mad at Aragorn now. "Perhaps we shall both have to find new ones now."

[stars-of-ink]

You will live on (ao3 link) | Rated: T | Category: M/M

LOTR: Legolas Greenleaf/Gimli | Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bittersweet Ending, Sea-longing

After putting off travelling to Valinor for so long, Legolas's health has started to fade. Gimli knows that his lover must leave Middle Earth forever, but also knows that only elves and the ringbearer have been granted the reward of entering Valinor. In which Legolas leaves, and Gimli stays behind.

For @lotrweek day 3 (oops). Hitting all three prompts of "blue" & "the water" & "thy heart shall rest no more"

Gimli has spent the last months (the last years, if he wants to be even more morbid) watching the two people closest to him slowly inch closer to death. He's not sure which one is more painful between Aragorn and Legolas. Time slowly and finally closing in around his dear friend, in a way that no-one can prevent or truly help? Or watching his lover begin to pine away for sea-longing battling with a desire to stay with his friends - an illness that has a solution.

Legolas will be cured, at least. They have built a ship together, kept carefully in Ithilien and planned to sail down the Anduin. Legolas's death can still be reversed, even if he plays with the balance every day.

And now the time has come for him to truly sail.

There is a strange amount of comfort in Aragorn's death, that the closest people in his life have found or will be able to find relief. That the pain that plagues them will no longer touch them. Grief still cloaks him, deep and painful at times, but the knowledge that something good has come of it helps to soothe Gimli's mind. It is something that Aragorn expressed satisfaction about as well - often urging Legolas to leave him before he had passed on, and not waste any more time when it was already starting to stretch thinly. At Legolas's insistence, they stay for Aragorn's first funeral (his private one, that honoured him as a person and not just a king).

Legolas briefly introduces the topic of staying to see Eladrion coronated, and to see Arwen pass as well. Then it creeps back into their familiar conversation, that perhaps Legolas may put off sailing to Valinor until his lover has passed away. When Gimli stares at the elf's eyes, a much duller blue of overcast sky with hair that seems more like straw than spun gold and starlight, he wonders if perhaps Legolas would pass first in waiting. He also argues against what his lover says, and insists that Legolas does need to leave these shores. He has delayed too long.

They have discussed Gimli attempting to sail to Valinor, when the two of them were first drafting plans for a boat and the subject was yet untouched. Legolas had been much healthier then, although looking back Gimli wonders if he can see the decline in some of his memories. Eventually they had decided against it (even if the ship was built to hold two people in the end). Both worried over some kind of retribution from the Valar, that they would not allow Legolas in if he tried to bring Gimli into such lands. Gimli cannot take Legolas's promised immortality away from him; he will also be proud to be buried in the halls of his fathers rather than in strange elven lands. Both will lose a part of each other, but both will hopefully find happiness after the fact.

Of course Gimli still travels with his husband to Ithilien - he will stay to see Legolas set sail. To make sure he will make it there.

The reason for him staying so strongly by Legolas's side is multifaceted. Legolas has asked him too, and Gimli never could deny the elf anything when he asked sincerely. Both of them would also be damned if they didn't take the opportunity to spend the last days of their time with each other together. Gimli would finally be parted from Legolas when he stepped on that boat and into Valinor, and not a moment before. He also stays because he worries that Legolas would collapse on the paths there if he did not have someone to keep him steady and remind him to rest.

Time is not on their side, and Legolas seems aware by the relentless pace he makes them keep. It is not a long ride, and they travel quickly indeed, but somehow the hours between Minas Tirith and Ithilien seem far longer than anything else Gimli has experienced. Perhaps his mind is determined to keep the final memories of Legolas as well as it can, and wants to stretch them out.

Between the relentless pace and restless sleep they do not have as much time for conversation as Gimli would like. A nagging feeling in his mind comes forward, one that wants Gimli to bring up the discussion of accompanying his love again. That he does not care what happens to him once Legolas arrives in Valinor when he isn't certain that Legolas will even make it to Valinor in the first place. But when he sees the exhaustion in Legolas's eyes, and that all the elf can do once they stop is crawl into Gimli's arms, he cannot bring himself to make it harder for his lover by possibly arguing with him.

Then they get to the boat, and Gimli watches as a little colour returns to Legolas's cheeks. How his eyes, which normally now only shine at Gimli's love, seem to brighten and shimmer at the sight of his escape and the nearby presence of water. Sailing is the right choice, and seeing Legolas already invigorated soothes Gimli's worries. The pain of Legolas leaving soon gets a little bigger.

Getting the boat to the Anduin is more of a struggle than either of them had anticipated; when they had built the boat, they had presumed they would have the strength of two people. Trying not to wince, Gimli watches as Legolas tries to find purchase on the boat before his hand slips. Holding up his finger, Legolas removes a splinter from it - only wincing a little as he has to tug it.

"Coping, Legolas?" The question that was supposed to be a jest falls slightly flat, Gimli's voice too full of nerves to give it a humorous inflection.

The smile he gets in response is slightly tired, but there is a fondness to it, more exasperation than exhaustion, "I am doing well, Gimli. There is no need to worry about me as much as you do."

"I do not-" Both of them know that's a lie, and so Gimli resorts to just shaking his head. "I made a vow to look after you as well as cherish you, and I plan on doing both."

"You do both well." Legolas moves over to him, and plants a kiss on his forehead, "Although perhaps you could focus a little more on the cherishing aspect?"

Gimli gives him a dozen more kisses than usual that day. Not just because Legolas asked, but because they are getting closer to the Anduin. Because it is his last chance to have Legolas in his arms, to gently press his lips to the elf's skin and to worship him.

It is dusk when they get to a bank Gimli recognises, when he realises the river will be viewable soon. Legolas speeds up a little, the sea desperately calling at him, but Gimli gets to Legolas's side and grasps his husband's hand. "We can sleep here tonight, love."

"Here?" Legolas's echo is confused, "But... I am so close to the Anduin. We are so close to the Anduin."

"We also both agreed that you should sleep one final time before you depart, and that leaving at morning would be better than at dusk," Gimli says, "Do you think that you could resist sailing, if you saw the river?"

"I could." Legolas's voice has determination, "For you, I could."

"Then just wait with me here; I'd rather have you to myself than torn between me and the waves."

At the words Legolas lowers himself before kissing Gimli. It's needier and more desperate than it usually is, arms snaking around the dwarf to hold him closer, but Gimli does not want to separate the either. Taking only a moment away so that Gimli can find his breath, Legolas kisses him again. Even now his lips are still smooth and soft, especially compared to the roughness of Gimli's own. Then Legolas withdraws his mouth more permanently, although stays by Gimli's side. His voice only a whisper, "I would have that as well."

Despite not being on the banks of the Anduin neither of them sleep well. They can't bring themselves to close their eyes, to go into a slumber while their lover is still right next to them. When this will be their last night together. While sleeping they hold each other more closely than usual as well, a tangle of limbs and adoration. As they are so close to the river, Gimli wonders if Legolas may be able to hear it - suspects that he does by how the elf will occasionally look towards it before having guilt cloud his eyes. Coming back to Gimli's side and hugging him more fiercely, or planting a kiss somewhere on him.

For once Gimli does not enjoy seeing the dawn rise with rosy streaks breaking up the inky blackness. Does not enjoy it going from the pale colours of a sunrise to the stronger colours of a clear blue sky. Both of them ignore the call to leave each other, for a little while. Then Legolas becomes slightly restless, and Gimli knows he cannot keep his love here. The Anduin should be just a river to Gimli - although a river with memories.

Now he cannot help but hate thing for taking his husband from him (cannot help but be thankful to the thing for saving the love of his life). Legolas gazes upon the expanse of water as if it is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, and for a moment the fatigue that seems to have settled into him lifts a little. Gimli watches and tries to focus only on that, of the love of his life being healthy again.

Not the fact Legolas now has to leave.

He does not begrudge Legolas the chance to run to the water or express his joy, and tries to share in that joy (attempting to cover the crack that is appearing in his heart). Kneeling, Legolas's hand skims through the water as Gimli keeps moving the boat towards the water. Taking it off the transportation, Gimli begins to let the horses they had traveled with loose for a moment. It isn't necessary, but Gimli needs to do something with his hands. Needs to be able to focus on something.

A gentle hand is placed on his shoulder, and Gimli gets the urge to lean into it and to cry. Instead he turns around to face his husband, and takes Legolas's hands in his. They simply stare at each other for a moment, and Gimli tries to blink desperately for a moment before giving in and letting tears roll down his face. Legolas's eyes are glossy as well, and soon his cheeks are tear streaked.

Looking up, Gimli lets out a watery laugh, "Somehow you still look beautiful, elf. Even with the tears."

"And to you I say the same," Legolas's voice is equally taunt and wrecked with emotion, "Melleth nin."

"My heart."

"My moon."

"My love and husband." Gimli's voice is a little steadier now, and Legolas is in his arms.

They remain like that for as long as they can, and it is Gimli's gaze that turns to the boat first. "I'll ride alongside the boat for a while, if you'll have me."

"Of course." Legolas's attention goes to the craft as well. "I did not want to be the first to look away. Gimli, I- are you sure you do not want me to stay, just until you pass?"

"I've watched you slowly fade every year you were battling sea-longing." There's a little gruffness now, "You walked away from the sea for me once, I cannot ask you to do it again."

"I would do it, if you ask me."

"Don't make me ask you." The finality comes through in Gimli's voice, and so Legolas stoops only to give him a kiss on the forehead before going to the boat. Starting to move it into the water.

"You will live on Gimli, if not by your mortal body then by your memories. By your actions. By my eternal love for you."

"And elvendom will not truly have left Middle Earth, Legolas. For I shall carry this love as well. You will not be forgotten."

The boat has started to sail, and Legolas still stands at its side to talk to his husband. "We will always remember each other. I love you."

[majormiles]

To the King!

@lotrweek day 7: above all shadows rides the sun

[raindoor]

Written for:

@lotrweek 2025 Day 7 prompt: black/white | the night/day | above all shadows rides the sun

and

@horrortember Day 9 prompt: "Nine"

The Reverse Sun [AO3]

Fandom: J. R. R. Tolkien "Lord of the Rings"

Words: 1310

Rating: General Audiences

No Archive Warnings Apply

Summary:

Driven by the darkness and restlessness inside, Berenga Goodchild used to wander the distant outskirts of The Shire and dream of roads leading to places where there were no second breakfasts to be had. A black rider on a winged beast in the sky embodies that which the young hobbit longed for, and Berenga becomes filled with something greater than one's own self.

[patrick-stewart]

LOTR Week 2025 ⤷ Day 6 (27th Sep): red | the home | but I can carry you

[emyn-arnens]

And Have Leave to Be Burned with It

Prompt: the people and the home for @lotrweek

Summary: Éowyn decides.

Word Count: 1.1k

Rating: G

Éowyn sat dreaming before the firepit, listening to the lilt of the bard’s voice as she sang in the low, rolling tongue of the Mark, born of the bending grasses and the thunder of hooves upon the plains. She sang of the ancient days of their people, when the Northmen had not yet risen from the mists of the Anduin as the mighty Éothéod of old, but were slaves set to flight, until from the mists marched Marwhini, and the Éothéod, awakened, rose from the muddied meads of the vales, striking spears upon beaten shields, and their enslavers fell beneath their feet.

The bard's voice deepened, and her hands drew forth from her harp the memories of days more ancient, and ancestors more remote, and a people put to slavery in their homes. And she sang of a hall darkened by ill deeds and cruel hands, and of the valor of its mistress, and of a fire that burned in defiance of the night.

Read the rest on AO3.

[kwistowee]

THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE TWO TOWERS @lotrweek 2025 | Day 4: green / the land

[hobbitwrangler]

The Last of the House of Steward

Prompt: 'but I can carry you' for @lotrweek day 6

Summary: Faramir and his Aunt Caeveneth come to terms with Denethor's death, together.

Character(s): Faramir & OC

Rating: G

Word count: 4.9k

It was Mithrandir who told Faramir that she had come. “Did she give you a message?” he had asked.

The wizard had shaken his head. “I do not think that she wished to speak to anyone. She only demanded to know what had become of the House of the Stewards. When I told her of its destruction, she left immediately.”

Faramir had not been to visit Rath Dínen since his father had taken him there. His memories were dark and burning, little more than breaking voices and a jostling that had seemed to rattle his very bones, all perceived through the murk of fever and strung between dreams of overwhelming night and black wraiths whose touch scorched like a brand. Yet it had not been the heat or the shadows that had overwhelmed him, that made his mind darken at the thought of those dread hours. It had been the loneliness, the knowledge that, should he cry, no one would hear him, should he reach out, no hand would meet his own. He was alone, in the burning dark, and there he would die. Even now, more than a month since and spring livening the air, a cowardly part of him wished to wait for her to come back, to leave her to grieve alone. But you cannot do that.

He had grieved Boromir alone, as had she, as had their father. And yet have you grieved him? Do you not feel his death like a weight upon your heart?

So he swallowed his fear and descended to the fifth level. The street was cool and silent, the sun crowning the ancient heads of long-dead kings and heroes with golden fingertips, far from the fire and blackness of his last visit. The only sound to trouble the quiet was a sparrow in sporadic conversation with its neighbour as it flitted in and out of its nest, a ragged little structure perched on King Ondoher’s carven shoulder.

AO3 link - lovely dividers

[dagordagorath]

LOTRweek 2025 | Day 6 → red | but I can carry you