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It would be cool if Gollum were the size of a man. How terrifying would it be to see him standing at full height and towering over Frodo and Sam? Knowing he could overpower both of them, but because of the torment of the ring, he grovels at their feet, but they know if he has a moment of clarity, he could take the ring from them. Poor Bilbo coming across this giant, sickly, pale creature all by himself in the caves, having to answer riddles while he watches this giant creature lick its lips and think about eating his flesh.

Imagine Gollum's looming figure staring down at them, his green gleaming eyes and spine protruding from his skin as he lowered himself to be smaller than the hobbits. With his hands bigger than their chests, he tries to make himself small and unthreatening. Despite his height, he still manages to be quiet, stealthy, and able to disappear without the others knowing where he's gone or coming back.

It would be like a horror movie, waiting for him to sneak up behind Sam or Frodo to steal the ring and take their lives.

I know it’s taking me forever to read The Two Towers but istg Gigolas is real. 10-year-old me feels so vindicated after reading this quote from Gimili to Legolas;

“[…] Yet you comfort me. Where you go, I will go.”

#sunny talks lotr #sunny reads books #lord of the rings #the two towers #gigolas #gimili #legolas #gimili x Legolas

Aragorn: You have my sword

Legolas: You have my bow

Gimili: And my vanilla extract :)

#tmp #meme #lotr #lord of the rings #uhf #uhf 1989 #office space #milton #spongebob #spongebon squarepants #gimili #dwarf

#lotr #Aragorn #gimili #pippin #Arwen

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.