She has an ease with her steed that is exemplary of all from her land, and Beregond notices this when he looks up at her, astride her saddle and with the reins comfortably in her hand, looking down at him but not down on him. 

The Lady Éowyn is beautiful, but more than that she is strong. Beregond has no thought to refuse her request to ride along with him, and he pats his own horse on the neck when he finishes with her tackle. 

There is much left to do in Ithilien to make sure the lands are safe and back to their former splendor; although even scarred by war, Ithilien is one of the most beautiful places Beregond has ever seen. 

           “I do not think my father truly cared that I was dead.” Or so his father had thought anyways. He had been told what had happened, as his memories were like smoke, vanishing between his fingers when he tried to bring them into focus. The words are evenly spoken, though his heart still bleeds to hear them spoken. It was the truth of it, why deny it? “He cared more about the line, than me.” Painful as it was, he admits it to her freely. He turns to look at her. “I think the fact he refused to listen to the fact that I wasn’t dead says as much.” He thought he would be more upset at the realization that he would never receive any sort of closure from his father. There was anger and pain in his chest, simmering just under the surface. But perhaps it was her simple presence that calmed him some. “It makes me wonder what would have happened had indeed my place been traded with my brother’s.”

um yeah and then meets the best thing that ever happened to him so… PERSPECTIVE.

eowyn vc: i will not swing dance. not even if u pay me.

The Last Unicorn (1982) starters.

“Not quite as much as they would like us to believe, I’ve found.”  

Tauriel smiles at Éowyn only briefly over her shoulder, ere her eyes harden and return to the target so far in front of them.  Already, she’s received a few odd looks from the men training– but given what she knows of men, it is unsurprising and hardly worth her time.  

“There is such a… disparity, I’ve noticed.  Between men and women, compared to ellyn and ellyth– namely in how the latter is treated.”  

       PLENTY OF IT HAD BEEN tales and legends, though none of it had been a story far from home. Thorin Oakenshield had seen enough war and bloodshed in his life, he had left the battles and the fights in the care of his cousin while he himself, an old and fickle Dwarf, had cowered within the halls of his father. His last battle fought had not taken from his his life, yet it had not allowed the Dwarven King to return the Lord he once was. His heirs -- his future. Naught was left, and just like his kingdom, all aid he could count on to rebuild it...had been his own. 

        Erebor prospered under the reign of Thorin Oakenshield for many years to follow -- for many threats to follow. Dark messengers -- servants of Evil -- came and went, promising the King Under the Mountain with fame and such wealth, no Dwarf had ever seen before. Though, Thorin held it in him, to reject them -- and the rest was known to all those who lived to hear the stories be told.