Holy. God.

Holy. God.

Pending permission this might just make it into my fic

Éomer is a gifted singer and he can even compose poetry on the go, as long as he is passionately inspired about the subject.

Prime example is his singing during the Battle of Pelennor Fields.

A more private example is when he is in bed with his beloved Lothíriel, and he whisper-sings his poetic praises of her as they make love.

(Lothíriel does her best to remember the short stanza's of his compositions so that she can write them down afterwards, but she never does get them right. Whenever she asks Éomer to repeat the lines after they have completed their lovemaking, he stares at her, confused. He claims he does not know what she is talking about, but part of her just thinks he is too shy to share it outside the heat of the moment.)

im re-reading the hobbit and its so funny

Gandalf: “thorin your dad wanted me to give this to you when i found him in a necromancers dungeon”

Thorin: “why were you in a necromancers dungeon”

Gandalf : “dont worry about that”

Chapter 3 of A Starling in Rohan is out!! Thanks for all the support so far <3 do ask if you want to be tagged in further chapter updates!

@konartiste hope you enjoy!

"I shall not be entirely happy today, brother, unless you are. I want everyone to feel as I do! Now come, share your worries."

She sank down into the deep velvet cushions in the window alcove, and patted the nearest chair.

Éomer sighed, and relented, knowing she would not give up until he told her what was on his mind. "A messenger arrived yesterday from one of the marshals. Farms across the Eastfold have reported a disease amongst the potato seedlings that renders them completely useless. Éowyn, unless I am provided with a miracle, Rohan will suffer heavier loss of life this coming winter than in the War of the Ring - I am certain of it."

Éowyn went to bite thoughtfully on her thumbnail, caught herself in time, and smoothed over the folds of her dress instead. "A solution will be found, Éomer. I am sure of it."

Éomer was less sure, but he didn't say this aloud. Already he had cast a shadow over the happiest day of his sister's life, and he didn't intend to add to it. "Perhaps, but not today. Today I don't mean to be King of Rohan - only your brother."

Voilà - my very first Éothiriel fic, which has been inspired by many, many authors and fics over the years! Find the rest of this first chapter of A Starling in Rohan on AO3 (where my username is niamh_cinnoir) or Wattpad (where my username is yavanna_kementari)!

Éomer listened - yes, the distant thunder of hooves against a dry forest path was all too recognisable. He gestured for Aldred and Théoling behind him, to be quiet and be ready, just in case anything happened. Their party slowed as the rider neared the bend up ahead, and Éomer's hand drifted towards his sword-hilt...

The rider came into view, an a sigh of relief rippled unseeingly through them. It was only a young lady, galloping on a huge chestnut gelding so violently that her long dark hair was flung out to the wind and the horse's hooves sent clods of hard-packed earth flying in every direction. Éomer saw the instant the horse noticed them, from years of experience with the animals - before even his rider did. A surprised whinny, a jerk of the head, and a sudden bolt of speed brought on by the unexpectedness of their appearance.

"Whoa!" The young woman fumbled with the reins, but Éomer knew there was nothing she could do, nothing anyone could do in the split second it took for her horse to lose control.

They looked on in horror as the lady tried valiantly to hang on, gripping the horse's mane, but even Éomer or one of his éored would have been hard-pressed to keep their seat as the gelding bucked wildly into the forest. The lady, caught by the momentum, was flung wildly off to the side, striking a young oak with force that rivalled the throwing arm of a mountain-troll. She landed limply in a bed of bluebells. Éowyn let out a low cry of horror, and dismounted, rushing to help; meanwhile Éomer and his men followed the horse into the forest of Emyn Arnen.

Someone in the reblogs suggested Beaker as the Mouth of Sauron and when I tell you I HOLLERED

Also if Kermit is Faramir then Beregond is Scooter

@prudencegoodewitch on instagram

Literally would watch this on repeat.

Like daily. Hourly. EVERY MINUTE OF EVERY DAY.